Not all Pets are for Hunting
by Stupe
Summary: A mercenary is captured by an Elder Arbitrator and unwillingly held as his trophy pet. She has her uses, but when she helps him escape temporary confinement he begins to think of a possible new use for her. Rated Mature for strong language and content...
1. Chapter 1

And now for something else. I'll warn you ahead of time, thought there will be a few chapters, this story isn't complete and might never be, so don't bother yourself with it if you prefer your stories to actually have an actual beginning, middle and end to them. :D Thought I'd put this up for entertainment (I hope) since it amused me enough to actually flesh it out some more when I dug it out of my hard drive. Had some false starts before settling on the characters and scenario of Anya and L'tor in _Chosen_, and this was one of them. I might have one or two more if anyone's interested...drop me a line to encourage me to publish them if you're okay with me putting up something else that might never be a complete story; I don't want to tick everyone off with half-assed stuff unless you want me to.

As with pretty much everything I write, the following is intended for a mature audience. If you would take offense to a human/yautja coupling and strong language, this isn't the story for you, sorry.

Disclaimer: Don't own the concept of Predator(s) and not making any money. Just doing it for the lulz.

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><p>Aw, crap. This, I hadn't planned for. Not in the least. "Can I see him?" I asked quietly, my mind working busily. No matter my need to get clear of Synsen and return to normality, this wasn't setting well with me and hadn't been what I'd intended. The yautja was quite literally a giant pain in my ass, but seeing him there on the monitor, stripped naked and locked in a small room, made me realize finally that he hadn't treated me all that poorly. Sure, life as his pet wasn't my cup of tea and therefore I fought him at every opportunity and made it my life's goal to make his life miserable, but still...I mean, <em>Jesus Christ<em>.

One of two things was going to happen here...or possibly both things. They were going to kill him. My kind, my people. Then his kind, his people, were going to show up and either blow the shit out of this place in particular or the entire planet in general, just for the insult done to Synsen, Honored Blood, Elite Warrior Elder, Master Trainer, Killer of Queens. Not fucking good.

"You can see him just fine," said the guy that had been assigned to keep an eye on me. And he was. Standing sideways to me and looking at me out of the corner of his eye. He had all the personality of a stone, and, I suspected and hoped, about as much intelligence.

"No, I mean face to face. So he can see me."

The guy finally looked full-on at me with both eyes. "So you can rub it in his face?" he asked, interest lighting up his dull expression. I smiled.

"Exactly."

He snorted and passed a glance around, apparently considering it. Truth was, I had no intention of rubbing anything in Synsen's face. I needed to know where they were holding him. I needed to see the place, the layout, the guards, the surveillance and security. What I was fixing to do was completely nuts and I didn't want to dwell on it. If this idiot wanted me to chant: "One, two, three, four, United Nations Marine Corps" to convince him, I would.

"This way," he finally decided, swinging to the left and weaving through the building with me on his heels. He wore a .45 on each hip, old school, and clutched an HK pulse rifle in his hands. There was a bowie knife strapped to the outside of his right calf, and grenades dangled from his vest. Stupid, gullible and armed to the teeth. God help me.

I paid attention to the turns, my head moving left to right, searching for guards and cameras and marking the location of each and every lighted exit sign. I did not want to come out the same way I'd come in; that door exited into the heart of the well-armed camp. I needed to shoot for the south side of the building, the side that exited at the top of the cliff face, the last place they would expect. The only way that side was a viable exit was in the company of a yautja, the only thing on this planet capable enough and hopefully willing enough to take me piggy-back down its sheer face without killing us both on the rocks below in the process.

Stupid led me to a door guarded by two marines. He nodded to them and they let him open the door and motion me inside without dispute. Beyond it was a long straight corridor, then a left turn to another guarded door. These two checked his badge and credentials and I fidgeted while they exchanged some small talk about the 'big ugly'. Synsen. They were buying time to look me over and I was well aware of what was going through their heads; I'd been in Synsen's possession. No doubt there was a shitload of speculation and rumor about _what_, exactly, Synsen was doing with a human female. Let them speculate; I wasn't too sure what he ultimately wanted with me, either.

Finally through that door and into a full-blown laboratory, populated by white coats all looking busy. They ignored us while I looked them over with a critical eye, trying to decide on the fly if they were all egghead scientists or if there were any hidden soldiers among them.

"Here he is," Stupid said, coming to a stop. I'd kept walking since I was paying zero attention to him, scanning the workers scattered at various tables, apparently engrossed in whatever the hell they were doing. "Oh, he recognizes _you_, alright," he murmured, and I turned.

Synsen was behind glass in a small, climate-controlled white room. When I'd seen him through the monitor he was standing in the back corner of it, arms folded, feet shoulder-width apart, staring defiantly. Now his thousand-yard murderous stare was focused hotly on me, and as I met his gaze everyone could hear his harsh, low-frequency growl through the speakers on either side of the glass.

"Sorry dude," I said nonchalantly, aware of two of the white-coats coming closer to observe. "You snooze, you lose." Nonsense words. I was pretty secure that, while the words conveyed mocking to those around me, Synsen had no fucking idea what I was saying. His backlit amber eyes were locked on mine and his slick tresses flared as he lowered his arms and stormed at the glass. I steeled myself to not move, though I couldn't help but remember that the last time he'd come at me like that it had ended in a backhand that had lifted me off my feet and sent me flying backwards. Yeah, that whole thing about yautja not hitting females? Turns out that if you pissed them off good enough they had no qualms about it.

"Thei-de syuit'de," Synsen rumbled, and I paled.

"What's he saying?" one of the white coats asked.

"He's a little pissed." Minor understatement. He'd just told me I was a dead traitor. Now I was reconsidering my plan to find a way to let him out of there. I didn't think it was right, him being captured in his attempt to protect me. Maybe I had it all wrong, that the truth was he'd been captured trying to get me back. I chewed my bottom lip and met his hellacious stare as I mulled over how much of a difference that would make to me.

"Can he hear us?" I asked, looking at the scientists, taking an extra second to check for weapons.

"Oh, yes. The two-way intercom is on," one of them nodded.

"Ellosiday pock," I said evenly, looking back at Synsen and lifting my chin. Actually _ell-osde' pauk_, but I was nowhere near fluent in speaking his language, leaving out the hard, guttural stops and grunts, and incapable of recreating the authoritative click of tusk against tusk. His golden eyes widened and he put his hands on the glass, showing us the lighter coloration of his palms as he etched the glass with the tips of his claws and growled, his shoulders bunching as he attempted to push his way out while he killed me with his eyes. _Fuck you_, I'd told him in mangled yautja, angry that he was angry at me. Wasn't _my_ fault he was where he was. If he'd just let me go he wouldn't be in the mess he was in right now. "Middy suit day." M-di syuit'de: _not traitor_. My grasp of the yautja language was stilted and childish at best but he read me loud and clear.

"You speak their language?" the scientist asked, startled.

"Little bit. Just asking if he's okay." Complete and utter lie. My eyes slipped sideways as I noticed that the soldier, Stupid, had fallen silent. I wondered if he was maybe smarter than I'd given him credit for. Hoped not.

"Kwei lou-dte kalei," Synsen snarled. I schooled myself to show no reaction. "M-di h'chak, aseigan." Knowing my limited grasp of his language, he was keeping his words simple and direct to guarantee I was reading him right. He'd just called me a sly baby maker, followed by vowing to show me no mercy. Oh, and that I'm a servant. Insult upon threat upon insult upon threat. And I was still debating getting him out of there?

"He sounds pissed," Stupid commented warily. Synsen always sounded pissed. It was part of his charm. These threats and the name-calling, however, were something new, at least him to me.

"What'd he say?" the nearest scientist asked, fingers hovering over a laptop keyboard.

"He's having some trouble with the air mixture. What'd you do with his stuff?" Meaning, his mask, armor, power supply, gauntlets and weapons. If they didn't know what he was saying, all the better for me.

"He doesn't look like he's having breathing issues," the other scientist said, frowning as he stared at Synsen. The yautja ignored him to continue trying to stare me to death. A pissed off yautja was no small matter, and I suspected that if there wasn't a four-inch thick pane of glass between us he'd have his hands wrapped around my throat right about now. There were other ways to kill, but that one was particularly personal. He wouldn't be quick about it, either, I was willing to bet; he could snap my neck one-handed but the slow throttle while he stared into my eyes and watched as he slowly squeezed the life out of me would be much more satisfying, judging by the look he was drilling me with.

I blinked slowly and deliberately then widened my eyes on him, then flicked them toward the soldier standing to my left. Flick. Flick, flick. Synsen's upper tusks lifted and he eased back from the glass a bit with a throbbing rumble as I got through to him. Primitive in some ways but advanced in so many others. Terrifyingly violent but just as intelligent. His kind were most certainly not to be messed with. These idiots around me, my people, thought they had everything under control but they didn't realize that all they had was temporary possession of a bomb that could go off at any second, given the slightest provocation or opportunity. If Synsen didn't kill them, others of his kind would come and do the job, and from what I knew about them it would be horrifyingly easy for them. I was afraid they wouldn't stop with exacting direct retribution, that they would feel the need to attack other people, too.

With that thought in mind, I had to take the chance to free him myself, even if it ended with me gagging and choking while he muttered simplistic insults while slowly strangling me. Because even if that happened, it would mean that Synsen was free to exact his own revenge and go, without the need for others of his kind to come here to either rescue or avenge him.

"Hullidge pee," I murmured, pointing to myself. _H'ulij-bpe_, actually. _Crazy_. I'm pretty sure he knew that already, though, and that it was part of my charm as far as he was concerned. "Da tay kaydee." Dtai'kai'-dte, _fight_. Then another flick toward the soldier. Synsen's heavy, overhanging brow furrowed over his steady glare, then he blinked and chuffed in disgust. I could almost hearing him ordering me to stop trying to speak his language, since my every mangled attempt to do so in the past was revolting to him.

"_Hko_." His mandibles flared wide, his tusks flattening to point their tips at each other with a good thirty inch gap in between. _No_, he'd said, then backed it up with a threatening and pissed expression, his thick elbow-length greying tresses flaring around his impressive crown as he hissed his displeasure. The flaring mandibles displayed their bright red insides to human eyesight; to yautja eyesight, based on the infrared spectrum, the insides would also flare bright red from heat. A very visual warning, if the bared sharp teeth of his mouth and the three-inch tusks weren't warning enough. It surprised me, to be honest. A second ago he's threatening me for his predicament, and now he's emphatically trying to back me down from trying to break him out. I supposed he was worried that someone else besides him would get to kill me.

"See?" I said, smoothing the frown from my brow as I looked at the scientists. "He's gasping a bit. Where'd you say his stuff was?"

"Why do you care?" the soldier demanded. The nearest scientist had hooked a thumb over his shoulder as he started to respond but was cut off from answering.

"He kept me alive," I shrugged, thinking fast. "Least I could do is return the favor." He narrowed his eyes on my face and I turned away to pass a glance across the lab. Shit. Synsen's things were scattered everywhere and being worked on. There was no quick way to gather it all up. "His mask? The power pack he wears on his back?" I asked. Bare minimum I could do was secure a good air supply for him; all the oxygen in earth's atmosphere was poisonous to his kind, who required a stronger nitrogen mixture. He could tolerate breathing it for awhile, but without weapons or a communicator it wasn't like he could get off-planet in the next few days, or to anyplace where the air was more conducive to his system.

"The power supply is nuclear," one of the scientists informed me. Well shit, I didn't know that. "A miniaturized cold-fusion reactor." This news set me back on my heels, and I looked at Synsen. His expression was decidedly less hostile, though he still leaned his huge clawed hands against the glass a few feet away from me. So confusing. They were big, dumb brutes. Big dumb brutes with advanced weaponry, ships that could cruise the universe, complex systems and nuclear backpacks for field trips. Fuck me.

"It also supplies power to the mask, which filters the air for him," I said weakly.

"Oh, the mask is extraordinary," the other scientist said, excited. He pointed and I looked, then deflated. Synsen snarled as he followed what we were looking at and saw his mask being pored over by no less than three scientists. "We can't let him have that until we understand its capabilities," he continued. "We believe its used for more than air filtration."

_Well no shit, Sherlock_. Dead end. Common sense told me I had to get Synsen out here and now, that this facility was temporary. They were in the process of preparing to move him into a more secure facility that would be like Fort Knox and I wouldn't have a hope in hell of breaking him out. His clan mates could, no doubt, but it would involve blowing a lot of shit up in the process and would be far from subtle.

Stupid asked the scientists what they'd found so far and they went back and forth with excitement. The scientists, because they were scientists. Stupid, because he was a soldier and no doubt hoped that the technology they unlocked would be usable by him one day. I flexed my hand, spreading my fingers, watching Synsen from the corner of my eye while I pretended to be paying attention to their chatter. His fierce gaze had caught my movement and his attention fell to my hand. I flexed five times, discreetly keeping my hand low, then pointed to the soldier, hoping the yautja got the message I was trying to convey: twenty five soldiers, give or take. Five in the building and easily another fifteen to twenty outside. I started to sweat as I realized I had to make my move, and now. Time was a-wasting.

Synsen remained quiet, watching as my hands closed on the laptop on the table in front of me as I pretended to casually lean my weight on my hands and stretch my back. It was a nice metal MacBook, thank god, not a cheap-shit plastic PC. I shifted my weight back slightly, using Stupid's reflection in the glass in front of me to judge my swing, then I just...did it. Jerked back and gritted my teeth as I full swung the closed MacBook, aiming for Stupid's head. He was quick, but not quick enough. His hands had remained on the pulse rifle and when he saw me make my move he started to bring it up. Fortunately I connected with his temple before he could pull the trigger; there was a sickening crack that stung my hands and he poured to the ground from the ankles up like a bag of sand.

"_What_...?" one of the scientists squeaked.

I wasted no time in collapsing on top of Stupid and clawing for the pulse rifle. It was attached to a strap that was slung over his shoulder and I started wrestling his dead weight to find the clip so I could unsling it. One of the scientists jumped me but Synsen's roar gave me enough warning to shift aside and dodge the worst of the attack, letting him roll off me as I tugged one of the .45's off of Stupid's hip, thumbed off the safety, and started shooting. All the while I was keening, my teeth bared in a grimace as I adamantly refused to allow myself to see my handiwork or to think about what the hell I was doing. The gun bucked in my hands and I turned away from the bloom of red on the jumper scientist's lab coat, up high between his shoulderblades. _One_. I swung the gun and squeezed the trigger as the other scientist started to raise his hands like he was surrendering. His head kicked back, red streaming like a ribbon as a slug tore through his forehead. _Two_.

Now there was screaming around me and I rose and spun in a solid shooter's stance, letting out a slow breath as I picked my targets and applied myself to the task. My time with the yautja had honed the analytical side of me and I used it to my advantage, eyes sweeping as my hands remained steady. Everything went into a sort of slow motion, a lot of hysterical screaming and running around in the small white room. The threats closest to me had been eliminated and I swung the gun toward the scientists heading for the door. _Three. Four. Five_. Part of me kept my attention on the door, knowing there were two soldiers on the other side of it. It stayed shut, and I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The other part of me was focussed on the remaining scientist who had ducked behind a far table to take refuge. I pocketed the .45, keeping an eye on that table and using my hands to feel around for the other one. I tugged it from its holster on Stupid's hip, flicked the safety, and started to move, drawing a bead on the scientist's hiding place and creeping across the room. Synsen growled behind me, no doubt annoyed that I wasn't letting him out of his prison, but I didn't let him draw my attention away. I needed that scientist, alive. I had no idea how to open Synsen's cell. If I did, believe me, I would have done that first and let him do what he did best: kill, so I didn't have to do it myself.

"Up!" I barked. "Let me see your hands!"

"Don't kill me!" a quavering voice begged.

"Get up!" I roared, pissed now. Time was ticking. Taking on a platoon of soldiers was a whole different ballgame than shooting unarmed scientists. I would need Synsen out before that door opened and they started pouring through.

Hands appeared over the table first, followed by arms then head as the scientist stood. He was young, and he was crying. Fuck. "Get over here! Open the cage!" I demanded.

"I-I don't know how," he whined. _Fuckity fuck_, I thought, then squeezed the trigger. He shrieked, a high-pitched sound as the slug tore through his raised forearm and knocked his hand back.

"Open the cage!" I demanded again as he cried harder and cradled his arm. Hunching, he shuffled around the table then downright scampered toward the glass wall of Synsen's cell. _Lying little bastard_, I thought, suddenly feeling a whole lot better about shooting the crying little shit.

He was sobbing as he tapped at the keypad, leaving bloody smears on the buttons. I held him at gunpoint long enough to see the door slide open, to watch him as he croaked and moaned when Synsen, downright bristling with rage, reached through to grab him by the throat before the door even opened enough to permit him to escape.

The gases of Synsen's enclosed environment hissed out into the lab and I coughed and backed away, returning to Stupid's body to retrieve the rest of the goodies he had on him before all hell broke loose. There was the wet, hollow snapping of bone as the last scientist's shriek cut short and I distantly thought, _six_, before wrestling with the soldier's deadweight to finish getting the vest off of him.

My head was spinning as I kept part of my awareness on what I was doing, part of it on the door to the lab, and part of it on Synsen as seven and a half feet and three hundred pounds of blotchy green muscle dumped the scientist to the floor like a sack of taters, then rumbled as he strode past me. He made a beeline for his mask and I kept part of my awareness on his movements as he made his way from table to table to retrieve his possessions.

With a little time and breathing room, I checked the size of the clips on Stupid's .45s. Seven rounds apiece. I reloaded and rechambered, then checked the vest for more ammunition to calculate how much I had. I pulled the vest on and put the .45s in the pockets, then hefted the pulse rifle, taking a few seconds to familiarize myself with it and check its energy level. There were two rechargers, giving me enough firepower to take on a damn army. I strapped the bowie knife to my calf and patted Stupid down, pulling the communicator from his belt. He'd turned it off. I powered it up and listened to the chatter, shocked to hear no alarm calls, no indications of a mobilization of the unit to converge on the lab. I glanced to the door again, seeing Synsen in my field vision as he strapped his greaves onto his mammoth calves. The lab must be soundproofed. And there was a god out there somewhere, because no one had time or thought to hitting a panic button, if there was one.

"Loody kallay?" I asked, daring to raise my voice and turning my attention to Synsen. One huge foot on the edge of the table as he clamped a greave onto one massive calf, he stilled, then lifted his masked face to look at me. I raised the pulse rifle and ratcheted it, activating its charge. It powered up with a low whine and the light on its side went green. "I don't think so."

He trilled, completely dismissing the bad-ass threatening picture I'd attempted to make. A_ lou-dte kalei_ was a derogatory, disrespectful yautja term for a female, calling her a baby-maker, as if that was all they were good for. Their females were more bad-ass than the males, and that was saying something. No male yautja would dare to call a female that to her face, unless he wanted her to kill him. And Synsen was a more progressive, cerebral male than most of his brethren. He was respectful to a fault, even to his opponents, enemies, and prey choices. But the sonofabitch had stood there spitting insults at me and I wanted him to know I was plenty pissed about it.

The light trill he'd made was a sound of amusement. Believe me, I'd heard that sound directed at me often enough to know what it meant. It got my hackles up, even more so when he moved on to the next table and slipped his gauntlets onto his forearms, settling them comfortably and making believe he was completely oblivious to me. He wasn't, and I knew it. And despite the pulse rifle in my hands, charged and activated, he had deliberately dismissed me as a threat and continued to don his dark metallic armor.

"Ass eagan?" I pressed. Aseigan: servant, in yautja. Technically I was a pet, not a servant. In my experience, it was a hell of a lot better to be a yautja pet than a yautja servant. Pets were only taken by yautja with the means to house and care for them, always the highest ranked and wealthiest. Pets were property, yes, but they were also indulgences. Though my relationship with Synsen was complicated and, at times, contentious, I'd seen how the servants lived and how they were treated, and I wouldn't trade my status as a pet to join their ranks for anything. Servants were at the mercy of every yautja, often beaten, starved and overworked. Most aseigan were yautja, creatures built to withstand tremendous brutality. I probably wouldn't last a day as one. As a pet, on the other hand, I was under the protection of the yautja who'd claimed me; in this case, Synsen. And Synsen was diligent about protecting me, if nothing else. A yautja who merely looked at me wrong would receive the pounding of a lifetime if Synsen caught it.

Finished suiting up, Synsen boldly walked the center of the lab and headed straight for me. He was a formidable being. Add armor and weapons and he was simply terrifying. I gripped the pulse rifle harder but knew better than to put my finger anywhere near the trigger, much less to point it in his general direction. I had the temper, the means and the ability to shoot him, but not the right. If I dared to cross that line and actually do it there would be pain, I was sure. Disarming of my recently acquired weapons, most definitely.

"Ell-osde' pauk?" he trilled, coming to a stop right in front of me, towering over me a good foot and a half and out-massing me by at least double. I paled. He was reminding me that I'd told him_ fuck you_. It had just tumbled out of my mouth with false bravado, easier to imagine when he was disarmed, stripped naked and locked behind thick ballistic-grade glass. He chuffed, then followed up with a drawn out and badly mangled, "Ell-o-see-day pock," mocking my attempt to say the words. I scowled; he sounded kind of like John Wayne when he did that shit, though where the hell he got the western drawl from was anyone's guess. Sure as hell wasn't from me.

He lifted a huge hand and lightly touched the mark he'd put on my cheek, tilting his head a bit, his faded once-black dreadlocks sliding across his broad back to dangle beside his arm. More words came out of him but I didn't know what they were; like I said, my knowledge of his language was limited, even more so when he didn't speak slowly and carefully. "Genaquavil bezab'a tdo."

Now I blushed, going absolutely crimson as he deliberately enunciated each word to ensure I followed him: _I would like to_. Turning my intended insult into invitation.

"Ha ha," I muttered, turning my face away and stepping back from the huge clawed thumb still lightly touching the mark on my cheek, sweeping my eyes past the lab's door. He shared his bed with me but he'd never made me uncomfortable with any sort of sexual advances or groping. He was more than capable of forcing me to do whatever he wanted, but in my time with him so far he concentrated on laying out the rules. I had my suspicions regarding what he ultimately wanted me for, but no concrete ideas. As far as I could tell, his having possession of me was a point of pride for him, and he trotted me around the others frequently like he was showing me off. Whether he ultimately meant to kill me or he was just enjoying my discomfort at my captivity and exulting in making a pet of the combat soldier who'd shot him three times and stabbed him once, I wasn't sure. Thing was, I just couldn't get around the thought that there would be only one reason an aggressive alpha male would take possession of a comparatively much smaller and weaker female, especially if said female had had the gall to injure him. In front of witnesses, no less, other males of his kind.

There was an element of what I considered torture to my captivity. Yautja time wasn't human time, and I was expected to keep to his grueling schedule. He dragged me everywhere with him, oftentimes literally. I was sleeping? He'd rip me out of his comfortable fur lined bed and toss me bodily into the bath, chortling in amusement as I sputtered and protested. I was expected to sit quietly in his lap like a docile lapdog when he met with others of his kind, eat whatever he gave me, match his ground-eating strides or risk being tossed over his shoulder and carried ass-facing-forward in the tiny little clothes he dressed me in. I was an ornament, a plaything. And if my temper got too hot he'd put me in a _kehrite_, a fighting pit, and amuse himself by what he called _sparring_ with me. It was more like a slap-down, a way to put me in my place, burn my head of steam off, knocking me around until I was good and subdued.

No, there'd never been any remotely sexual element to my stint as a yautja pet, so his admission shocked me. And yet, from the little I'd so far learned about them, it made a weird kind of sense. Having a human pet only added to Synsen's status in the eyes of the others. Especially, apparently, one that was so cantankerous and difficult. The females watched, paying attention. Synsen had the patience to deal with me and the restraint to do it without causing me real harm, curbing his immense strength and reining in his awesome temper. He had a kind of sense of humor, too, usually taking me in stride with good-natured amusement...at least as far as the others of his kind were concerned. Far as I was concerned, my captivity and humiliating subjugation to his alien whims had been torture.

I was a prey animal to his kind, considered intelligent, potentially dangerous and way too emotional for them to ever understand. Humans were considered a very high caliber of prey, second only to _kainde amedha_, xenomorphs. Sizable aliens with hard exoskeletons that were supremely adaptable to nearly any environment, utilizing native species for food and breeding. They formed hives ruled by queens that laid eggs containing a parasite-laden larva to be implanted in a host; this method of reproduction allowed the xenomorphs to adopt the characteristics of the host organism. Every yautja was required to hunt kainde amedha at least once in their lives, during their Blooding hunts or chivas. You don't become a Blooded yautja without having killed at least one, and if you weren't Blooded you weren't considered an adult in their society.

Hunting humans, however, was reserved only for the highest ranked Blooded warriors, to avoid the risk of discovery or capture. Yautja respected the human race enough to know that for one of them with their technology, falling into human hands would be disastrous for their kind. Even their most experienced warriors avoided heavily populated areas to reduce the risk of discovery or capture, and they carried with them self-destruct devices as a failsafe last-ditch weapon.

For Synsen to catch me alive and keep me was an impressive feat, one the ladies took note of. Female humans, it was known, weren't ever the focus of any yautja hunt, and not normally found in any number in the remote areas where yautja hunted. If they were, they were overlooked and hunted around. Leave it to me to put myself out there as a mercenary for hire, putting me as a trained and armed female right smack dab in the middle of prime hunting ground. He'd had the right to kill me...especially after I'd shot him. He'd chosen instead to run me to ground, beat me into submission, disarm me and capture me. I'd had the barest hint of what Synsen was capable of doing to me and it was enough to subdue me, forcing me to be marginally less combative at times than I normally would be.

As for the sexual element, yautja mated seasonally and it was the females who decided who got lucky and who didn't. They looked for strength, for smarts, for experience. The more status and trophies a male had, the better chance he had of being chosen by a female in heat. And a pet was considered to be a living trophy, the hardest to obtain and keep of all. Better yet for Synsen, a _human_ pet to show off and trot around, the rarest of the rare on a yautja clan ship. I'd seen some of the other pets: a beast that was a hunting hound that would kill me as soon as look at me, and another thing that was lizardy and flat and spiny and the size of a VW Beetle. That thing wanted to eat me in the worst way imaginable. I _hated_ that damned thing. Then again, the hunting hound wasn't on my friends list, either.

The short and fiercely competitive breeding season meant that yautja males had limited opportunity to get their rocks off, and I'd had the sneaking suspicion, with the sexy barely-there clothing he dressed me in, the demand that I share his bed, and his insistence on regular physical contact were all an attempt to get me accustomed to him, and him to me. Like everything else Synsen did with me, it was a sort of training. He established his dominance over me at every opportunity, but reserved his most painful lessons for the kehrite, never for his quarters and especially never for his sleeping pallet. Boundaries, then. I had learned that climbing into his huge bed was sometimes the only way to escape his wrath, and since I'd figured that out I'd made full use of the knowledge. Shameful female tactics in a trained and seasoned soldier to be sure, but nothing I'd ever trained for had prepared me for a yautja. If me in his bed indicated submission to him and cooled his temper, so be it.

It was just that I had a sneaking suspicion that I was unintentionally broadcasting more each time I did that. Even more shameful because I knew damn well that, for his kind, females controlled the males, at least when it came to sex. Being larger and more aggressive than their males, there was no such thing as rape in yautja society. The males didn't even have much control over the sexual encounter itself: where, when or how often it occurred. Females had the exclusive rights to call the shots in that area and the males were along for the ride, so to say. Synsen was maintaining his cultural respect for my femininity by not forcing himself on me, by not making a single pass at me, by not pressing me when it came to his sexual wants, needs or desires. I'd had a niggling fear that that would only go so far for so long, though. It was my understanding that as his pet, it was his right to do whatever he wanted with me. If part of his reasoning for taking me as his pet in the first place was an attraction to me as a female and the opportunity to utilize me as such in the offseason, no one would think less of him.

"Ngot, Pet," he purred, pulling me back to the present. _Ngot_ was good. _Pet_ was self-explanatory. He'd taken to calling me by the human word for what I was to him, stripping me of everything I used to do, be, and have, including my own name. The past didn't matter; to him what was here and now was important, at least when it came to me. I was not a soldier, I didn't run my own business, I didn't have employees or family or a house and property. I _was_ property. More to the point, _his _property.

"I'll get you out of here," I said tightly, annoyed. "Then you go your way, I go mine."

He cocked his head again and I stared up at his expressionless mask, waiting. He chuffed, then turned from me and I scowled, unsure. Was that agreement, refusal or dismissal? Shit, I wasn't sure. Then I decided it didn't matter right now; what mattered was getting the hell out of here before the army came down on our heads.

Both of us were armed and ready, and I pointed to the door, then held up two fingers. Synsen nodded that he understood, a curt motion of his chin. Yautja maintained discipline and silence during the hunt. I should know; he'd brought me to tag along on a few. Couldn't decide then and still didn't know now if his intention was to traumatize me or piss off the others in the hunting party. I was never armed or armored, and it seemed to me that my part was to stroll along, alone and oblivious, until something that was usually huge, aggressive and toothy popped out of the woodwork and tried to eat me. That was when Synsen and company would make an appearance, shoving me aside so they could gleefully kill it.

Prickling with nervous tension and anticipation, I headed for the door. When I hit the mechanism to open it, Synsen's huge hand shoved me aside. In his other huge hand was his double-edged naginata, a wicked collapsible hunting staff with razor sharp blades on either end. Apparently if there was killing to be done, he wanted to be the one to do it. Fine by me; I'd had my fill of shooting my own kind in the effort to break my alien captor and tormentor out of prison. At least he was consenting to my being armed. Surprising, actually.

Synsen stepped through the open doorway and the naginata flashed in the fluorescent lighting of the hall. I heard the squelchy impacts, the gushing of air from punctured lungs, and the perfectly timed thudding of two bodies hitting the linoleum. He paused, knees flexed, body held still, then he straightened and shook off his blades. I'd seen it before but it never ceased to amaze me, this creature's sheer speed, stealth, power and ability. All yautja were deadly to be sure; some were deadlier than the rest. Synsen was held in awe by younger generations, respected by his peers, impressive even to his fellow Elders. Now he was going to mow through a squad of twenty-five soldiers like a hot knife through melting butter.

He lifted his head and looked at me. I held my arm out straight, then indicated a right turn, held it out straight again, then showed him two fingers. He gave me another quick nod, then headed out. I followed, my eyes darting as I held the pulse rifle at the ready. The cameras were going to pick us up sooner or later. The trip out just wasn't going to be this easy the whole way, was it?

Realizing I'd lost sight of Synsen, I picked up my pace. He was waiting around the bend, looking for me expectantly. Clearly, he wasn't planning on leaving me behind. I motioned down the hallway to the door on the end, held up two fingers, then shrugged to indicate that I wasn't willing to bet there were only two out there anymore. He cocked his head and I pointed to a camera up high by the ceiling in the corner of the hallway. Seeing it and apparently recognizing and understanding what it was spurred him into action and he moved faster now, aware that the more time we gave our enemy to set up a trap, the harder it would be for us to escape.

He moved silently and smoothly for such a large creature, though he wasn't bothering to be cautious. There was an elegant grace to Synsen, I had to admit. He was probably closer to three times heavier than me than two, and I was making more noise in the corridor than he was. If I wasn't so nervous that fact would make me furious.

Again he waited for me to touch the panel that opened the door, and this time I cleared the way for him willingly. Good thing, too, because there was a hail of automatic weapons fire the second the door slid back. Synsen roared and charged out into it like it was rain, leaving me gaping and pressed up against the wall. Then the screaming started. The firing became more erratic and the communicator on my vest was transmitting garbled commands to form up intermingled with cries for a medic.

Holy. Shit. No one did that. I mean, who the hell ran out into pulse rifle fire? With a fucking _spear_, for christ's sweet sake? That was nuts.

The sporadic firing trailed off into silence and I straightened in my position against the wall. That was it, then. Synsen took himself on a suicide mission rather than be captured again, and now it was all over. My turn.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't own Predators or Aliens and I'm making no money off this fic. Be warned, it's loaded with dirty words and will be loaded with dirty deeds as well. Avoid it like the plague if that's not your thing. For the rest of you, **Thank You** so much for the Reviews and Faves! Your interest has me adding more detail to the story than originally was there. No guarantees but maybe it will end up being a complete short story at this rate...

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><p>A familiar, chuffing bark made me freeze as I brought my pulse rifle up and started to draw in a deep breath to gather my nerves. I blinked and stared down the bland hallway we'd come down to get to this door, my eyes settling on another surveillance camera. The coarse bark came again from beyond the open doorway behind me, more demanding this time. <em>Synsen<em>?

I peeked out through the doorway, a quick look before drawing back to avoid having my brains blown out. Then I looked again and gaped. Eight dead guys and a bleeding yautja, waiting for me to get my shit together and hurry the hell up. He gave me maybe three seconds to come to grips before whirling away and heading down the next corridor. I flinched when the communicator clipped to my vest started hollering, someone calling out for a report. It was echoed from eight other communicators scattered around the room.

Jarred into action I tiptoed through the mess, careful not to tread in any blood so as not to leave a trail that could be followed. By my figuring, probably close to half the soldiers that were guarding this site were dead already. Synsen was on a roll.

This time he didn't wait for me to meet up and give him an indication of what lay ahead. From the strength of his n'dui'se, his scent, he was in high blower. Pissed, in other words. I had a feeling that this was a train that had jumped the tracks, and for Synsen it wasn't so much about escape as it was about revenge. There would be no sneaky back-door slinking off and sliding down the cliff while they ran around in confusion. Oh no, he fully intended to kick the front door down on this bitch. Whatever slithered out or scurried around was going to get a naginata shoved right up its ass, courtesy of a very pissed off yautja.

Keeping my distance I trailed after him, looking longingly down the corridor I'd intended to take during my on-the-fly escape planning. There was, putting it mildly, a commotion a few turns ahead and I looked that way, then back toward my original intended destination, worrying my lip with my teeth. I could go that way. After all, I'd successfully broken him out, hadn't I? He had all his equipment so it wasn't like I would be leaving him alone and helpless if I bailed on him. _Pfft_. Far from it, if the sound of things was any indication; Synsen was having himself an ass-kicking field day a couple turns ahead.

Fuck it. I turned down the south corridor, dialing down the volume on my communicator as the hysterical and broken chatter started up again. As long as Synsen was distracting them so effectively, it was time to make my exit. I picked up the pace, holding my stolen weapon at the ready as I trotted, double-timing it to the south door. I was cautious at each twist and turn but the hallways were barren and lifeless. Perfect.

I reached the door in good time and opened it, then peered carefully out. Power station for the facility, dirt track that led around the side, quiet expanse of grass and a nice breeze off the water...a hundred feet below. I glanced around, looking for options. The dirt track, I assumed, led around to the north side, where Synsen had exited and was, right at this very moment, wreaking havoc with the military. The cliff face climbed higher on the opposite side and I chewed my lip as my eyes picked out a path that led up maybe seventy feet to the summit, then hopefully down the other side toward freedom.

Looked like a way out, so I decided to take it. I broke into a jog across the grass, skirting the chain-link fence that contained the power station and hearing its hum. Took me a second, once I reached the cliff, to find the trail head, then I started up. The rifle had a strap that I used to sling its weight onto my back, freeing my hands up to help me climb. I was a good way up the treacherous trail when I heard a familiar, rapid ticking that made me freeze, then look up.

Synsen was perched on a large boulder at the side of the trail ahead, crouched down on his haunches, his elbows sticking out on either side of him as he rested his forearms on his wide-spread thighs. He was hunched, some of his thick hairs swinging in the constant breeze, bright, almost fluorescent-green blood pattering on the stone from a scattering of small wounds on his torso that were no doubt bullet holes. Synsen was a down and out, balls-to-the-wall brawler; though I was seeing damage I knew it wouldn't be enough to put a dent in his plans for the day.

I stared he raised his right hand, pointer finger extended, then shook it back and forth at me. The universal no-no-no. The smug sonuvabitch.

"We're not doing this," I said defiantly, stiffening up automatically. "I'm not going back there."

He trilled. How the hell he'd managed to exterminate every soldier, no doubt backtrack through the facility looking for me, then climb the cliff past me long enough to settle down and catch his breath, I didn't know. Humans and yautja shared some similarities but most of those were superficial. Two arms, two legs, two eyes, that was pretty much it in a nutshell. He used senses and instincts and abilities and technology that were beyond my capacity to relate to. The best the human race had to offer was probably no match for the worst yautja.

He jumped down off the boulder from his crouch, his landing deliberately heavy. Believe me, I noticed. If he'd wanted to, he could be silent. He was broadcasting warning to me. To back it up, he lifted his right hand and extended his ki'picta, the twin serrated blades housed in his right gauntlet. They flashed in the sunlight, each two feet long and wickedly sharpened to a razor's edge. His mood was definitely not happy to see me.

I tensed as he circled behind me, then felt a tug at the pulse rifle before it was pulled off my body. He'd cut the strap. It clattered against the jumble of rocks a good twenty feet away as he tossed it aside, then continued circling til he was back in front of me. Holding the ki'picta out and to his side, he proffered his left hand, palm up, then jerked his fingers twice. There were more weapons and he not only knew it, he wanted them, too.

We'd done this before. Only back then, I hadn't known what he was or what he wanted. Now I did, but I still debated. The ki'picta retracted, responding to some muscular flex of his forearm inside the gauntlet. To anyone that didn't know better, seeing that would be a relief. Me, I saw it for what it was: last warning. His next move would be a flying fucking tackle, absolutely no fun. I'd never been hit by a car but I imagine the sensation was about the same. Followed by the car parking on top of you.

"No," I sputtered. "I got you out. You go your way, I go mine. Remember?"

He cocked his head as he translated my words, then he motioned to his face. His right cheek, specifically. My right cheek sported a large glyph, Synsen's calling card. On my forehead it would be considered a Blooding mark. On my cheek, it indicated something else entirely. "Mine," he said in his gravelly voice.

"Haven't I earned my freedom?" I demanded, on the verge of tears.

So _close_. I had been so close to escaping the nightmare that had begun on Navassa Island, where I'd been one of two dozen mercenaries hired to guard facilities on the tiny little two-mile Caribbean island. Easy job, they'd told us. Good pay, good hours: twelve on, twelve off. Accommodations had been spartan but hell, it was a job, not a vacation. They'd declined to tell us exactly what it was we were guarding, what was going on in the underground facility. One of the other mercs had jokingly told me it had something to do with bird shit, that the island had a long history of being mined for guano.

All I knew was that I was two months into a six month stint of occasionally chasing Haitian subsistence fishermen off the beaches whenever they tried to make landfall when all hell broke loose. What had been hidden in the facility belowground had gotten loose and was on a rampage. Reports were coming in on my walkie-talkie, fast and furious. It's a panther, it's a lizard, it's a dinosaur, it's a demon. It was spotted by the island's lighthouse and near the facility's main entrance at the same time. Turned out there was more than one of them, and when I finally spotted one of the things I put my vote in for the demon theory. Sinuous and sleek, able to rise up onto its hind limbs or run with great leaping bounds on all fours. Black and shiny with a long, spear-tipped skeletal tail that lashed like a whip. A cumbersome looking head, like a banana, only armed with powerful jaws full of crystalline teeth and a tongue tipped with a smaller jaw full of the same.

We engaged, no choice, safeties off, full auto, trying like hell to converge because we were scattered all over the island. Things were smart, somehow working as a unit. Running relays like a wolf pack to keep us moving and to break apart any groups that attempted to form up, staggering their attacks and cutting mercs from the herd like frightened sheep. I'd been running low on ammo and painfully aware that I was too far out from the armory to have a hope in hell of getting more, when a new player made his appearance. He was heralded by blinding flashes from some sort of energy weapon that not only vaporized the demons it hit but caused any near the blast to fly apart like popped corn kernels. That was when we found out about the acid-for-blood thing.

It was pure chaos. For all we knew this was some other form of demon from the lab, and while it was eliminating the black things none of us were entertaining thoughts that maybe it was on our side. And it hadn't been. The energy weapon was just as effective against mercenaries pointing pulse rifles, and it was backed up by a double-bladed metallic pole weapon wielded by something man-like and massive. By the time my turn came to confront it I'd almost made it to the armory and I was close to hyperventilating with the awareness that all radio chatter had gone completely silent, as if I was the only one left alive. Even the elk-like trumpeting of the demons had ceased, leaving my caustic panting as the only sound in my ears.

There was something off near the facility's back entrance, the closest door to the armory. Something flickery that played my eyes like a trick of the light as I ran toward it. A side effect of the overdose of adrenaline, I figured, running toward the door. I registered it but ignored it. Which was how I ended up knocked flat on my back, an authoritative bark ringing in my ears. The flickering over me resolved into the metallic man-thing and I reflexively squeezed off a few pulse rounds before the rifle was ripped from my hands, then I rolled to avoid the humongous clawed foot that was descending toward my face. There was a stomp behind me but I was full-on scuttling through the underbrush, momentum allowing me to get to my feet and run. The rifle hit me in the back and sent me flying, and when I tugged the Ka-Bar from its sheath around my calf and rolled to my back the thing descended over me and the blade slid to the hilt just below the strange armor that covered the right side of its chest.

Both of us froze. I could hear its deep breathing, feel it against my hand. It was hot and slick like it was sweaty, its skin the mottled colors of the jungle like it was part of the island, a mystical voodoo guardian that had been roused to come to Navassa's defense and expel the intruders.

It lifted off me and I kept my blade, feeling the hot trickle of bright green blood flow over the hilt and onto my hand, and thinking I'd stabbed some plant that had come to life and bled sap. It stood, towering over me, placing its clawed hand over the wound then looking at it while I held myself ready to get the hell out of its way when it fell. It growled, shifted, then kicked the Ka-Bar out of my hand without warning. I yelped like the girl I was and rolled away again, intending on getting to my feet and running till I hit water, then swimming from there. I was grabbed from behind mid-roll and hauled to my feet, and, sensing the end was near, I started fighting like a wildcat. When the tree-man-beast-thing bear-hugged me to its massive chest and started to crush the breath out of me, it suddenly dropped me. I hit with a whump, was kicked to my back, then it was crouching over me, grabbing at my face with one hand and pawing at my chest with the other. There was a tearing sound as its claws dug into the fabric of my fatigues and the kevlar vest beneath and I thanked god I was wearing it or that would be my skin. Though he clawed at it viciously enough that I could feel it pressing hard against my chest, the plates repelled his attempt to apparently gut me. The shirt, however, wasn't so lucky, and it hung off my front in tatters from shoulders to waist by the time he stopped carving. I'd regained my wits enough to start pummeling with fists and feet but he ignored me, then suddenly switched the attentions of his claws to the front of my pants.

This time, I felt them. I shrieked as he carved fabric and flesh below the waist and he ceased, then ripped open the front of my pants with enough force to lift my hips a good foot off the ground. My struggles renewed as he shoved those talons between my legs with no more delicacy than he'd done anything else, hot fingers touching my bared sex roughly. He let out a startled-sounding grunt and immediately withdrew, then tilted his black metal face over me, snake-like Medusa hairs dangling off his wide shoulders.

"Female," a strange, multi-tonal voice growled. Trying to get the fingers clamped on my face off, I stilled. Navassa's jungle god spoke english?

"Yes," I'd answered tightly, jaw movement hindered by the fact that he was practically gripping my cheeks tight enough to press them together.

For a second there, I thought my sex would save me. I was the only female soldier on the island. There were other women workers in the lab, but I hadn't seen anyone from the facility since the demons appeared so I'd assumed they'd all been killed underground. The hand on my face didn't relent, though; if anything, it tightened further. The other hand was doing something off to the side, then my eyes went wide as it reappeared with a humongous knife clutched in its grip.

"Mine," the jungle god rumbled, then shifted his grip on my face and forced my head over to press my left cheek to the dirt. The knife twirled over my head expertly like a gunslinger playing with a revolver, then descended tip-first toward my face. I keened before I even felt it prick my cheek, then started thrashing as it began carving. The jungle god ignored my struggling and ruthlessly held my head still, pinned under tremendous pressure as the tip of the blade parted my skin in a wandering pattern. It was slow torture and I distinctly remember hearing, for some odd reason, the sudden return of sounds of the island's wildlife while it was happening, the squawk of the gulls and the higher trilling calls of the terns. In the madness that had come over me it further confirmed my suspicions that voodoo was at work, that the island had restored its natural balance and claimed me as the spoils of its battle.

Suddenly ceasing its tortuous carving on the side of my face, the knife lifted, the black blade tipped with red. The jungle god wiped both sides of it on the remains of my fatigues and the front of my vest, then spun it again before expertly jamming it back into the sheath on its leg without looking. It rose from its crouch over me, pulled me up by the front of my tattered vest, examined the cuts on my cheek and grunted satisfaction, then popped me in the chin. I went lights out immediately and mercifully, next waking up naked in a metal room on a remarkably comfortable bed with a luxurious tumble of furs.

Imagine my dumb shock when I realized that the jungle god was actually an extraterrestrial, that the metal room was inside a space ship that had already traveled out of sight of earth, and that the furs were the skins of alien beasts from several different planets. Part of me decided that I'd lost it and I was completely batshit crazy and imagining this, while in reality I was locked in a mental ward. Didn't take me long to realize that this couldn't be my fantasy because it hurt too much. Besides my carved-up face I had a massive contusion on my lower back, courtesy of having my own pulse rifle chucked at me hard enough to knock me off my feet. My glass jaw was tender as hell, the hand that had a Ka-Bar kicked out of it was tightly wrapped and aching and I was fairly well covered in scratches and bruises.

All healed and gone now, except for the carving which was left to purposely scar. Synsen's mark, an indication to others of his kind that I wasn't prey, I wasn't feral and I wasn't public property. The jungle god was actually a hunter, an aggressive and ruthless predator backed by amazing technology. While I had no idea how long ago my capture on Navassa Island had taken place, I knew it was a long time. Long enough that I no longer cringed in abject terror in Synsen's presence, though that didn't mean I didn't maintain a healthy respect for him and what he was capable of doing to me. Long enough to know that he was highly regarded by his clan, which was sizable, well armed, and intolerant of any of its members being captured and held hostage by a prey species. As a card-carrying member of that prey species I couldn't allow others to be punished for the sins of the few; the clan wouldn't give two shits about who was directly involved in Synsen's capture and who wasn't.

Part of me right now though was kicking me in the ass. Had I left him trapped in that cell...I sighed and deflated, and Synsen let out a low purr. There was an overhead, distant boom, then the building roar of a powerful propulsion engine. He'd called in the cavalry at some point. Probably while waiting for me to climb up to his location. Probably made a couple of personal calls to catch up on the latest news and filed his claws, too, the son of a bitch.

He could let me go. He could decide to be magnanimous. Their culture was rife with stories of letting prey go after a particularly good hunt, letting it live and breed to better the species and pass on its genes. "You _owe_ me," I insisted. "If it wasn't for me you'd still be locked up."

The sound of the propulsion engines grew deafening as the craft descended over the summit of the cliff, and Synsen lifted his head to look at it. I sagged with relief, thinking he wouldn't take his eyes off me if he intended to recapture me. I looked up at the black underbelly of the small dropship, a hunting vessel the yautja used to move back and forth from their transport ship. The wind it created tossed my hair into my eyes and I shut them, just for a second. When I reopened them, Synsen was standing directly in front of me. I took one backward step before his hands were on Stupid's vest, roughly forcing it back off my shoulders and jostling me. When he tugged one of my arms out I put my hand on his massive broiling hot and bloodied chest, and he paused.

"Let me go, Synsen," I said, knowing he would hear me over the roar of the ship. It hovered, a ramp descending from its belly with a whir of hydraulics.

He tugged the other half of the vest off, then dropped it behind me and covered my hand on his chest with his own. I felt more than heard the purr he emitted, then realized what my gesture signaled. Females put their hands on a male to signal acceptance, to show that they selected that male for breeding. Despite my words, my actions told him what he wanted to hear and he chose to go with that.

"I'm not yautja!" I shouted over the howl of the wind being battered by the huge engines of the ship hovering overhead, trying unsuccessfully to tug my hand loose. "That's not what I meant and you know it!" I shoved at him. Would have been more productive to shove at the house-sized boulder he'd leaped off of.

He released my hand to grab a fistful of the oversized borrowed shirt just above my breasts, then he turned around and started dragging me up the trail toward the waiting ramp. "No-no-no-no!" I hollered, trying to dig my heels in and get my point across. He ignored me. Easily.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to all of you who Faved and Alerted, and most of all to those who have reviewed!  
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**Disclaimer: Don't own Aliens or Predator, and not making any money off this fic. It's intended purely for the enjoyment of readers who don't mind a little cussin', fightin' and fu...I mean, imaginary relations of a sexual nature between yautja, and between yautja and humans. In other words, it's dirty, crude, vulgar and completely inappropriate. My mother would be horrified.**

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><p>I hissed and spat and kicked and clawed but still made zero impact or headway into changing the stubborn yautja's mind. For reasons unfathomable to me, he still wanted to keep me. He gave an extra sharp tug to haul me up off my feet and onto the ramp, then pulled me up the incline and into the ship. "Jesus Christ!" I shouted over the deafening sound and wind. "<em>No<em>!" Not again. Not for longer. I'd been stupid to think I could escape him for a second; outside of his unwilling confinement I realized I hadn't been out of his sight for longer than fifteen minutes. Tops.

He paused at the top of the ramp to key something into a control panel, then hauled me through the cargo bay. There was the whine of hydraulics as the ramp lifted and started to close, and that was enough to signal the ship's pilot that Synsen was onboard; through the last glimpse of sunlight I could see that the ship was rising and rotating.

"I cannot believe you," I huffed, my hands clamped around the single, massive hand still wadded in my shirt. It was hot and hard and half the size of my head. Despite my time and experience with Synsen, his sheer size was still intimidating.

He rumbled, then tugged me a step closer, let go of my shirt, and closed his hand on the scruff of my neck. I cringed and ducked, and he lifted his fingers from following the curve of my neck to climb into my hair instead. I felt my scalp tighten as he grabbed a handful. It wasn't painful but it was a hold I had no hope in hell of getting free from. It also allowed him to force my head up; apparently he did not want me entering the ship with a defeated posture like the helplessly trapped animal I was.

"An'sha'i, Pet," his gravelly voice rumbled. "Pay a-ten-shun."

_An'sha'i_: submit. The 'pay attention' part was a warning to keep my trap shut. When he spoke my language it was always slow and deliberate, the words foreign and unsure to his strange mouth and vocal cords. Behind, the ramp locked into place, and the ship vibrated around us. Synsen led me out of the cargo bay and down the corridor with its misty floors and backlit orange glyphs carved into the rounded walls. I stumbled a bit on the metallic floor and Synsen slowed his pace, knowing how the mist disoriented me and no doubt aware of my growing exhaustion as my earlier panic faded into a bland miserable sort of mental and emotional shut-down.

I was familiar enough with the ship, and as far as I knew either Synsen owned it outright or a good portion of it. There were quarters for six yautja, and he reserved the largest accommodations for himself. Usually quarters were shared, especially on a smaller hunting vessel like this. Its main purpose was transportation so the living quarters were temporary bedrooms used only for sleeping while en-route to or from a destination. It was also home base during a hunt, but since hunting yautja often ranged far afield they tended to do a lot of roughing it.

The largest private quarters had a private bath, and I was under the impression that I was why Synsen demanded his own space, and more importantly, his own lavatory and showering facility. Yautja did just about everything communally, and though as a pet I ranked low on the totem pole the yautja who had claimed me was a high-ranking and jealous guardian, thank god. No group potty and shared shower for lil' ol' me. I was the equivalent of one of those snotty little lap dogs the rich girls carried around like accessories.

Synsen dragged me aft of the cockpit, to an area with oversized seats. Three other yautja were here, and conversation started immediately upon our arrival. Dejected, I didn't protest as Synsen shoved me to a chair and pushed me into it. At least I got my own this time. Usually I was forced to share with him. I supposed it might have something to do with the armor and weaponry he was currently decked out in; he normally didn't make for a squishy, comfy pillow but just right now he was positively lethal.

Yautja conversation to me often sounded rapid, staccato and angry. Synsen settled in the next chair, finally unhanding me, then he tapped at his left gauntlet, the one that housed his communications, and barked out something like an order. The ship shivered and I could feel it accelerating now that everyone was safely stowed. We were definitely headed on a course that would take us out of earth's atmosphere. _Goddamnit_. I sank deeper in the too-big-for-me chair and let out a quiet breath as I withdrew further into myself.

The conversation grew heated and I tuned in long enough to assure myself it wasn't about me. Fortunately I was being pretty much ignored and overlooked, as usual. I got enough of a gist to realize that retaliation was being discussed, that there was outrage regarding Synsen's temporary capture. For a fleeting moment I wanted to jump up and beg mercy for my planet and its people, until I caught on to Synsen's reassurance to the others that the problem had been, in his words, _eliminated_. Jesus Christ, if they nuked earth it would seal my fate and remove any hope in hell I had of one day getting back home. I would put my head in one of the lavs and drank the blue chemicals deep if that happened.

The knife. It suddenly occurred to me that I still had the Ka-Bar knife strapped to my ankle. While Synsen was busy with his back and forth I let my gaze dip down to check it. Yep, still there. It wouldn't have surprised me to discover that while the sheath was still strapped to my calf, the knife was missing. That was the kind of luck I'd been having.

There was the chortling and trilling of yautja amusement and I flinched and looked up to find them all staring at me. Synsen was talking and he motioned at me, saying something that resulted in more amusement. That was, admittedly, one of my gifts. Apparently yautja found me fucking hysterical. I screwed my face up into a scowl that did nothing to derail the great fun they were having at my expense, but I followed orders and kept my lips sealed.

The ship shivered, a clear indication that we were breaking free of earth's gravity. It became increasingly more violent until it suddenly steadied and quieted, and I waited another minute before discreetly removing my fingernails from the chair's armrest. While this was far from the first time I'd been through the experience it didn't mean I was comfortable with it.

Synsen's one-yautja show didn't miss a beat through the disturbance and I had the sneaking suspicion that he was entertaining the others with a blow-by-blow account of our earth adventure. How his silly, naïve human pet freed him from his cell and actually thought he'd allow her to traipse around armed to the teeth, with the expectation that he would just jet off and leave her on her home planet in thanks.

I wanted to curl my legs up under me but I didn't dare, in case it drew their attention to the foot-long knife strapped to my calf. I had no idea what the hell I was going to do with the thing, but I wanted to keep it. Not, by any stretch of the imagination, that I would ever attempt to use it on Synsen. God, no. The thought alone was enough to make me clench. I'd tried that once already; another attempt would probably result in him making it a permanent part of my anatomy. I just wanted something. Something human, something from earth. I entertained myself with trying to decide where a good hiding place for it would be, tuning the yautja out and managing to settle myself down a bit because of it.

The artificial gravity system kicked in automatically, keeping the ship at a constant atmosphere. The quiet always amazed me; turns out that the sound of air moving over the ship's hull was remarkably loud, and once in space there was the throbbing of the engines but no sense of movement. Audible or visible, for that matter. No matter where we were, it always looked the same to me: black velvet and distant sparkling, glittering stars. Quiet, cold, and deadly.

The persistent throbbing that made the ship feel like the inside of a giant, beating heart slowed and quieted. Oh goody, that meant that my second favorite part was coming up: docking with their main transport ship. Not the godawful-huge clan ship that Synsen generally resided on; the transport was more the RV he used for traveling to hunt, whereas the ship I was currently on was the SUV for terrestrial excursions. The transport remained in orbit, too large to land and hide. And the clan ship was far more massive still, easily equal to a good-sized Earth city.

There was a loud bang and a hard jerk, then a stomach-in-the-mouth sensation as the drop ship latched onto the transport and was pulled into its motion, an abrupt and unpleasant change of momentum as far as I was concerned. Regardless of the fact that it was in space, I hated flying and all the sensations that went along with it. Given a choice, I would prefer to keep my feet on the ground where things didn't shimmy and shake and roll and bottom out for no good goddamned reason.

Synsen rose to his feet suddenly and I blinked and tuned in. He was saying something to one of the others, then he nonchalantly held a talon-tipped hand out and palm up to me as he listened to the response. I stared at it a moment, aware that while he wasn't looking at me, the other three were. It would be bad form to ignore Synsen, and even worse to force him to action, no matter how pissed off I might be right now. Most especially when there was an audience looking on. To a certain extent I could get away with certain things in private, but if any of his kind were present I had damned well better be on my game or he would make it a point to 'discipline' me, a show of force and aggression that would remind me who was boss in this 'relationship'. And god help me if I didn't knuckle under after that...that was when things would start to get physical. Nothing like spending quality time in a sparring circle with a yautja, and my body was right now begging my pissed off and defiant brain to do what Synsen wanted and take his hand.

With that thought in mind I reached up and placed my hand on his, sliding our palms together before closing my fingers around his thumb. His hand was tough and callused and hot, and his thumb was probably equal in width to the last three fingers on one of my hands. The rest of his fingers wrapped over the back of my hand and he responded to whatever was said to him, securing me but not moving yet to indicate that I should get up.

His grip was warm and solid and firm, but relatively gentle provided I remained compliant. When his grip tightened and he looked down at me on the chair, I took the cue to get my feet under me and rise, assisted by his strong pull. The other three rose also, then each tapped a fist over his heart and dipped his head to me before Synsen led me away.

My head spun at the show of respect I'd just been given. Yautja had never directed that toward me before; usually my existence wasn't even acknowledged. If it was acknowledged, it was accompanied by hostility, which resulted in an answering challenge by Synsen. There had been fights in my presence. Plenty of them. It started with a hard shove to the shoulder followed by a low, angry growl, then a brawl that Synsen, without fail, won. A human on a yautja clan ship was an attractive nuisance that was resented by some, for reasons unknown to me. I suspected, however, it had something to do with my scent, since upper tusks lifted too long, accompanied by a hard stare, was often all it took to get Synsen to respond with aggression.

And, I suspected, Synsen loved the brawling. Any time, anywhere. For a time I'd thought that was my purpose, to be trotted out and shoved in the others' faces until one of them stepped out of line in response. There were fights in the kehrite - the official fighting pit - fights in the mess hall, fights in the corridors, fights in the common areas. Grappling and growling, huge, powerful swings with claws fully bared, vicious kicks to unprotected body parts. Once, I saw Synsen grab an armored fellow warrior by his breastplate and securing straps, then step back as he lifted and literally spun the unfortunate yautja off his feet to send him crashing into a wall. The downed warrior scrambled to his feet with a roar that had me backpedaling in fear, and Synsen trilled in amusement and waved him to come on, standing his ground. He'd actually punched the other warrior right in the faceplate, not only knocking it off him but breaking his mandible on that side. That had been the end of that battle. Unarmed Synsen versus another but much younger Blooded warrior fully armed and armored, thirty seconds tops. The unBlooded and youngBloods who'd witnessed the altercation pounded their fists on every surface in appreciation and applause, howling and roaring in delight. He'd chuffed, collected me, and strutted off like a peacock, pleased as hell.

In my world, youth often trumps age, especially when you're talking about a knock-down drag-out fistfight. The younger you are, the better stamina you have, though I admit that in some cases sheer street-smarts or a higher level of technical skill will win the day. When it came to yautja though, the older tended to kick the crap out of the younger fairly easily, like experience honed their reflexes to a razor's edge and made them deadlier and more focused. They seemed to move better, anticipate better, hit harder and with more targeted precision. The younger ones tended to be more hot-headed and reactive than the older, according to my observances as the thing that they got hot-headed about and reacted to. The older ones were more calculating and better at keeping a level head.

While I had no idea how the hell old Synsen was, he was clearly showing grey in his dreadlocks and along the spines on his face. The fact that he loomed a bit larger than the others led me to believe that his kind continued growing throughout their lives, too, since all yautja with even a touch of grey tended to be bigger. Either that or it meant the bigger the suckers were, the longer they lived. Outside Synsen's quarters, the only time I allowed myself to relax and let my guard down was when he settled with a group of greys like himself. They might be humongous and terrifying but their behavior leaned toward more curious than anything else, and they weren't trying to aggressively charge me. Thank god Synsen tended to spend most of his time with the civilized ones, at least when I was around.

He led the way with me at his side, down the main corridor and the rooms that branched off to either side, straight back to the loading dock. Instead of using the ramp this time he keyed a code into the pad beside a door and it slid open in sync with another just on the other side of it. The ships had been sealed together and perfectly aligned; yautja don't do anything half-assed. It was a simple matter of stepping through the slightly smaller-for-them doorway and into the transport ship. Synsen pushed me ahead and let go of me, then ducked to follow me after I stepped over the raised lower lip and went through.

He rumbled quietly and closed his huge hand on the back of my neck as I pretty much began sweating immediately in the tropical heat of the transport. Usually I wandered around wearing a hell of a lot less than I currently was; the scientists and soldiers that had briefly held us captive had stripped me of my Synsen-approved clothes and dressed me in the smallest male fatigues they could find. While it felt good to be dressed like a human again it was not appropriate garb for the inside of a yaujta ship. Here, the rule of thumb is less is better.

We came to a stop in Synsen's private bathing room with its small, hot pool and corner shower. Here on the transport ship all yautja had their own quarters and washrooms. Synsen let go of me to begin removing his armor, carefully undoing the straps and buckles and placing each item on the table off to the side. Business as usual. Yautja were very clean creatures, though they didn't mind getting down and dirty on their hunts. Given the opportunity they rinsed off in the shower, then soaked in a hot bath every day. More often if they spent time in the fighting pit, sparring or practicing their _zazin_, similar to a martial artist's kata.

I watched him, the question of why I was here on tip of my tongue. I already knew what his answer would be, though: _Pet_. One simple word that was my name and occupation, as if it explained everything. Gauntlets, spaulders and breastplate removed, Synsen looked at me, then cocked his head and trilled.

"You know what my problem is," I said, my voice low. "You did it again. Kidnaped me."

He chuffed dismissively. We'd had this argument, lots of times. Humans had pets and he knew it. I'd tried to explain away the difference, that our pets weren't sentient beings, that they were domesticated animals. Admittedly the argument had even sounded hollow in my own ears, and had amused the hell out of him. There are benefits to being a pet, he'd assured me. Safety. Security. A steady supply of food, access to better medical care. Our pets don't _talk_ to us, I'd argued. They do, he'd countered. You just don't bother to learn their language. Damn if that didn't ring of the truth. Pissed me off, to be honest.

Truth was, I'd settled into the role, somewhat. Until he brought me to my home planet for a little outing, leaving me on my own while he went to hunt. Until I'd been taken by soldiers and in his rescue attempt he'd been captured. Until I'd chosen to free him because, despite what little I understood of his kind, I knew that holding one prisoner was wrong, wrong, wrong. And that I owed him at least that much, since, while he wasn't exactly kind to me, he'd never _tortured_ me and I damned well knew that was what my kind was going to do to him. He was what he was, and god help me, I was coming to accept that, to respect it. I might not agree with his lifestyle and his culture but there was no rule saying that I had to. Plus there was the little issue of the others of his kind coming to his rescue, killing innocent people who had no involvement in Synsen's capture in their zeal to exact retribution for the outrage. Innocent people or the entire planet, even. They had the capability to do devastating damage and I knew it.

"Synsen," I said quietly, daring to call him by name, something I rarely did. I waited until he paused in the meticulous undonning of his armor and looked at me. "Why didn't you just let me go?" I asked, holding my hands out to my sides.

"Pet," he said in his gravelly voice, then stepped closer, reached out and touched the scar on my cheek. I bared my teeth and was getting ready to unload on him for the simple non-answer when he continued. "Oomans kill Synsen Pet." I bristled, then thought about it. If they tracked me down and caught me, he was probably right. They would have wanted to study me, to question me. They might have eventually gotten around to killing me after they finished cutting me up in tiny pieces small enough to shove under a microscope. "Not red-ee give Pet up," he added.

I deflated. That was really what it boiled down to, wasn't it? Synsen's fascination with me, for whatever reason, meant that he wasn't about to let me go. That was part of the responsibility of taking on a pet. Problem was, I wasn't accepting of the role that had been thrust on me.

Sensing my disquiet he purred softly, the sound lower and steadier and thrummier than a trill. It was, I'd come to learn, a tactic he used to soothe and reassure me, and damn if it didn't work like a charm, every time. He crouched in front of me and picked at my fatigues, then, annoyed by the buttons that were too small for him to manipulate, he used both hands to pull the shirt apart. I flinched as plastic buttons popped everywhere and Synsen paused to watch them go with a low sound of annoyance. He pushed the overly large shirt off my shoulders and left it to me to work it off my wrists and hands, turning his attention to the pants next. They were ridiculously bunched at the waist and held up with a D-ring pressure buckle. He slipped a huge finger behind it and tugged at it, jerking my hips, even more annoyed.

"Wait, I'll-"

Too late. With a growl he used both hands, one on either side of the D-rings, and pulled. It gave reluctantly and he kept up the pressure until it was wide enough to slide down my hips. He worked the fatigue pants down with it, pooling them at my feet. When he hesitated I looked down and saw him sizing up the challenge of the heavy combat boots I'd been given.

"Let me," I said quietly, then bent forward and undid the double knots I'd used to secure the laces. Synsen wasn't paying attention, though. His hand closed around my right calf, lifting the dropped pants enough to see the military-issue Ka-Bar knife strapped to my calf. He touched it, using his fingers to explore, then unclipped the strap and pulled the knife from its sheath, lifting it between us point-up. "Oh yeah," I muttered. "That." He examined the blade while I unbuckled the straps for the sheath and kicked off the boots, then stepped out of the pants. I was left wearing nothing but the smallest men's boxers the facility had on hand, and a white, ribbed guinea tee shirt. Synsen fished around in the pile of clothes til he came up with the knife's sheath, then he slid it back inside and clipped the safety strap back on and set it aside. I doubted I would be seeing that again.

He looked at me and trilled, cocking his head as he scanned the outfit I was wearing under my clothes. Yautja didn't wear underpants, so no doubt this was funny to him. He plucked at a leg of the boxers, then easily slid them down my legs. I swear he was holding his breath and staring as he did. There was a moment of hesitation before he gathered himself and reached for the tank top, pulling at the seam along my right side curiously, unsure of how to remove it. I shifted nervously, then took the hem and lifted it, pulling the shirt inside out and up and over my head as he watched.

He purred again, the sound quiet at first and steadily building to a thrum that made me blush. He was an alien. Far as he was concerned, _I_ was an alien. He'd hunted my kind for more years than I'd been alive, stalking and killing and skinning and dismembering. Still, I had every reason to believe that this seven and a half foot monstrosity had some strange attraction to me, and it wasn't just my charming personality.

Synsen rose quietly and powerfully to his full height, then stalked past me back to the table to continue removing his armor. I took the opportunity to kick the boots and pants off my feet, skin off the socks, and make my way to the tub while his back was turned. Things had changed. _Synsen_ had changed. Between taking my derogatory _ell-osde' pauk_ as opportunity to tell me he would, actually now that I mentioned it, like to fuck me, and his insistence on helping me to undress, the tone between us had changed. And, quite honestly, it scared the shit out of me.

He'd always been relatively...indifferent to me. Not to my existence in general, but to me as a female in particular. I simply could not imagine an amorous Synsen, nearly two feet taller and probably two hundred fifty pounds heavier than me. I already knew that yautja matings were violent, since I'd actually witnessed one. I'd thought they were fighting at first as I turned my head to watch. Hell, they were right outside the drop ship in the clan ship's docking and cargo area, pushing and shoving and wrestling, banging off the sides of crates and containers. We had just landed and disembarked; I was already on edge because me walking around the clan ship tended to be a stressful experience for everyone involved, me most especially. Synsen's hand had closed on the back of my neck and I'd heard his amused rumble, then two of the others from our group hurried over there. The battle became more heated as they joined in, and the biggest one, the female as it turned out, ramped up her aggression with the addition of the newcomers.

"What the hell's going on?" I'd asked nervously, staring at the melee.

"Mate-ing," Synsen had said, a strange weight in his ponderous voice. He also was watching. The female, after repelling her suitors, rested her eyes on Synsen from a hundred yards, and I could feel my captor's grip tighten.

"That's _mating_?" I was asking, horrified. Around the female, who was still assessing Synsen, the males were fighting each other now. Instead of answering me, Synsen started a hearty, throbbing purr, shifting to fully face her and not letting go of me. The female bristled then started marching at us, her fists clenched and her mane lifted. She looked terrifying and aggressive, and Synsen stood his ground and continued his loud purring while I squirmed and tried unsuccessfully to back up.

She was bigger than him by a solid foot, and the reds on her hide were livid. Her mandibles and tusks were smaller and her small, high breasts were covered by a scrap of hide. She had a slightly longer torso, wider hips and thinner tresses, but otherwise she looked remarkably similar to the males of her kind. The three behind her disengaged when they realized that what they were fighting over was walking away from them. They followed, all bristling, and I could smell the n'dui'se coming off Synsen. Musk. In my experience it was a warning of his rising temper and now I was shifting my attention between the huge approaching female who was broadcasting warning with every step, the three males who had been brawling with each other and were now following behind her, and my captor who was oozing general all-purpose menace.

The female came to a stop just outside Synsen's four foot reach, her barrel chest expanding and contracting as if she was breathing hard. Her upper tusks were lifted, scenting the air, and her molten eyes fell to me. They took a slow walk up and down my length as I wilted, then she dismissed me and redirected her attention to Synsen. She stepped forward, then lifted her hand and shoved at his shoulder, hard enough to rock him back a step.

I'd seen that before plenty of times and I knew what it was: a challenge. I heard, through the loud, throbbing purr, Synsen draw in a long, deep, rattling breath. She rattled back, her lower mandibles flaring. Synsen suddenly let go of me and I retreated to a safer distance, thinking there was going to be a fight. One of the males chuffed and stormed off with an attitude of annoyed disgust, turning his back and stomping off. Synsen's ship-mates lingered a moment longer before they, too, retreated. Then the female took another step closer and lifted her hand again, but this time laid it on his chest and added a trilling, almost questioning purr as she stared down at him.

He reacted like lightning, snatching her hand off his chest and twisting her arm around, forcing her to turn. The musk was strong enough to coat my nose as she barked and bucked against him while he forced her to bend, then shoved her forward. Her free hand shot out to keep her face from smacking into the floor and she started growling furiously, the tense and somewhat tender moment gone.

As she fell forward and reached out to brace herself, Synsen tugged her loincloth off with one hand, then stepped behind her before she could rise, pinning her with his weight. She was struggling but not really fighting while I stood there horrified and wondering what in hell was going on. In the course of the next second he reached to his own hip and undid his loincloth, then lunged hard against her, shoving her forward again. It knocked her chest to the metal paneling of the floor and he snatched up her free arm, pinning her in a restraining hold that forced both her elbows up and back. She was growling but he was purring ardently, both of them breathing heavily like they'd just run a good distance.

And I realized, as I stared in wide-eyed horror, that this was was apparently how they did it. Right here, out in the open, with a minimum of preliminaries and a maximum of aggression. On the floor in the loading dock in front of me, oblivious to the activity all around. I wanted to get the hell out of there but I had no idea where I was supposed to go. Even so, I started a slow backing away as Synsen started...well...humping her, for lack of a better word. I had a good idea of what was probably going on outside my eyeshot, and from the sound of her ebbing and easing growling in time to his thrusting I was willing to bet that yautja had the same sort of anatomy as humans did, and he was shoving into her. She shifted and his hold tightened pretty much abusively, easing a bit when she settled again.

It was rape, essentially. Only she'd marched her giant ass three hundred feet over and asked for it, leaving three other suitors behind. They were both grunting and panting, she still growling, Synsen still purring. When I took another step back Synsen's head turned and he met my eyes and issued a commanding bark, not missing a beat as he continued what he was doing. It stilled me. Apparently I was supposed to just stand there while he...um...finished his business.

Satisfied that I'd gotten the message he returned his attention to the huge female shuddering and shifting restlessly beneath him, her face on the metal planking and her hind up propped up as he bent over her and thrust aggressively into her, keeping her restrained. His mandibles spread wide, the usually upturned tusks now pointing at each other, then he lowered his mouth to her back and dug those suckers right into her over her shoulderblades. She bellowed and bucked, her head snapping up and her dreadlocks slapping over her back and his head, and his thrusts became shorter, a rhythmic flexing of his hips against hers. Despite the aggression he was still purring as he held her like that, tusks sunk just beneath her thick hide and forming visible lumps as he held his head still while grinding against her. His every muscle was flexed impressively, bulging against his hide as he worked. She had gone still now, still growling steadily but no longer making her muted attempts to resist.

Synsen's purr stuttered and he started grunting in time to his flexing, and she lifted her head and made that same commanding bark he'd just used on me. It spurred him to move faster and I could only relate to it in the coarsest of terms: he started really fucking the shit out of her. No longer a vicious pounding, he was digging deep as he could and keeping it there, holding her still as he continuously tried to go still deeper. In my personal sexual experience with my own kind, this was usually the final stage, but I'd never seen it achieved so quickly or brutally before. There was no affection or passion to it, it was just raw, animalistic rutting. Besides the fact that, _hello_, it was going on right in front of me, I was even more shocked by the impersonalization of it, the sort of instinctive didn't-give-a-shit about it. My captor was not a dumb animal; however, when it came to his hormones apparently he was. And the highly esteemed and respected females who were considered smarter than the males were no better.

Synsen's ardent purr was ragged and choppy, battling with his bestial grunting as he moved against the pinned female. The hide pierced by his tusks was bleeding only slightly, fluorescent green, but the areas around the embedded tusks were turning a bright red. She barked again imperiously, actually shoving back against him once, either to throw him off or hurry him along. Seemed to me she wasn't particularly enjoying this coupling, despite the fact that she'd asked for it. Synsen surged, then issued a strangled-sounding bellow, pulling his tusks loose and raising his head, flexing into an arch over her as he shuddered. He held the pose a moment, perfectly still, then released a breath and lowered, panting hard. She rumbled and shifted but he kept his hold on her, shuddering every now and then as he caught his breath.

After a moment, no more, she raised her head and looked back over her shoulder at him, releasing a low, rattling growl. He huffed, tugging himself out in one smooth motion as he rose to his feet and released her, then he stepped back quickly.

Okay, I stared. They were glaring at each other as she regained her feet then stood and rolled her head from shoulder-to-shoulder as she turned to face him, then flexed her shoulders. He watched warily, a throbbing, pulsing eight inch erection still pointed at her, mottled dark greenish and black, slightly lumpy, slightly ribbed, very veiny. There was no head; it tapered to a narrow tip. The skin looked softer and smoother than his hide, glistening slightly from, well, _use_. Yep, I stared. It was very mobile along its fat length, rippling and twitching like it wanted another go, the sooner the better. Yeah, it was big. Yeah, it was thick. Yeah, it was alien. But honestly, all I could think as I stared was _hmmm_.

With a chuff, the female snatched up her dropped loincloth and Synsen stepped back to give her more space, then she turned and stormed off. He watched her go for a moment more, then bent over his prominent cock and retrieved his own loincloth.

"That's it?" I'd blurted, incredulous and probably pretty flushed. His head snapped around like I'd startled him and he just stood there, in no apparent hurry to cover his aroused nudity. "Wham-bam, and not even a thank-you-ma'am?" The encounter had been stripped of all the human social requirements, reduced to just plain, raw sex. Though it had appeared so brutal that I could only equate it to rape, it clearly hadn't been that. She'd chosen Synsen, and had come over to him to issue her invitation. She was larger and probably more powerful, but her struggles had been cursory, like she was testing his grip and his hold, like she insisted it be brutal and restraining. She didn't seem to enjoy it; she more tolerated it as a necessary thing that she'd steeled herself to endure. It seemed horrible to me, since personally I enjoyed the hell out of having sex.

Synsen grunted and gave himself a rough shake that rattled his dreadlocks, shuddered his muscles, and caused his heavy erection to swing and bob. It certainly was impressive, to say the least. It was subsiding, no longer pulsing with that strange but enticing and rhythmic rippling down its length. Despite having been the proud owner of many sex toys before my captivity, I had never seen one that could recreate that motion. If I ever got back home I was going to invent one that could do that. Bet I'd make a fortune.

He'd tied his loincloth on, still in no particular hurry. Seemed a little dazed, like he wasn't sure what the hell just happened. I was feeling pretty much the same way so I could relate. Compared to the crackling tension of before, he exuded an easy calm now. I wondered if he needed a stiff drink and a cigarette; I sure as hell did.


	4. Chapter 4

You reviewers are awesome. THANK YOU for your interest in this story!

Disclaimer: I don't own Predators or Aliens and I'm not making any money off this fic. Please note that it is rated Mature for language and smutty sex scenes.

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><p>"Pet," Synsen said now, his deep, guttural voice making me flinch in startled reaction. When I looked at him he tapped his fist over his heart, or where I assumed his heart was, and dipped his head. "Did good," he rumbled, lifting his head and meeting my eyes. I blinked slowly, probably looking like the world's stupidest owl. Plus, I was politely trying to not let my gaze slip down to look at what I'd just been thinking about, though part of me was desperate to do a spot-check to make sure no funny business was going on. He had, after all, pretty much ripped the clothes off my body as if they were in his way.<p>

"I did?" I asked distantly, then realized he was referring to my breaking him out and I scowled. "I shouldn't have done it," I muttered, looking away. "Should have left you there to rot."

"Kill four ooman," he said, after making a rude sound in response to what I'd said. He was about as good at English as I was at yautja. He had a tendency to break up most multi-syllable words into separate words, the appendages on his face stretching and flexing as he worked to pronounce. Like him with me, though, I got him.

"_Five_," I corrected him. "And no thanks for reminding me." I'd killed before, but never so personally. Used to be a grunt like Stupid, and though as a female I wasn't exactly on the front lines I'd been in a few firefights. Twice on road patrol in enemy territory, once in transit and once when my base came under attack. Back then I hadn't actually sat and counted kill shots; in the heat of things when everybody's shooting the shit out of everybody else you sort of lose track of who was responsible for what.

He trilled, his amused sound, remarkably gentle and almost bird-like. Guaranteed he knew I'd killed five and he was just screwing with me, one of his favorite pastimes. "Synsen Pet Blooded," he said, the last word coming across as 'blood-dead'.

I perked up immediately. Blooded was a big thing to yautja; if you weren't Blooded you weren't an adult or a respected member of their society. Maybe my status just had an upgrade. "Yeah? So's that mean I'm not a pet anymore?"

He issued a growly, chuffing snort, telling me without words that my question was idiotic. "Hko. Means Synsen Pet more val-you-bull." He slid the gauntlet off his left arm and set it on the table. "Synsen Pet has on-her. Not like other ooman." He slid the right gauntlet off and set it beside the other pieces of his paraphernalia, then rubbed his forearm.

"Synsen's pet doesn't want to have honor and value. Synsen's pet wants her freedom." Despite his rush to get my clothes off, he didn't seem to be in a hurry to get undressed and join me in the tub, I'd noticed. Plus, he was still wearing the heavy utility belt he wore in the field, with the draping armored panels front and back over his loincloth.

He chuffed again, grumbling a bit. There I was, being an idiot again. To yautja, unless you were an asshole honor was everything. There were those with no honor; they were labeled badBloods, hunted down and killed. As far as most yautja were concerned, humans, too, were considered assholes. Hyperactive miniature assholes that were generally silenced with a bladed weapon the moment they opened their dishonorable asshole mouths. Because of that I usually kept my mouth shut, but he was baiting me and I was pissed off enough to rise to the occasion.

Synsen removed a hidden case from his atomic backpack and set it on the table, then pressed it open, keeping his back to me. Hah. I'd pissed him off; I could tell by his body language. It was considered rude to turn your back on someone since it meant you didn't consider them a threat. In the middle of a conversation it was a dismissal. I subsided in the hot water to my chin and glared at his back.

He busied himself with something from the case, keeping his back to me, then I watched him go rigid and heard a quiet grunt. His arm extended and there was a rattle from the instrument in his hand as something dropped from it onto the metal table. The process repeated several times before I realized he was plucking the bullets embedded in his thick hide, pulling them out one by one and dropping them on the table.

Five. Non-stop without a pause to take a fortifying breath, without a heavy dose of painkillers to get through it or even a bracing shot of liquor. By the time it was done I could hear his rougher breathing though he hadn't made a sound of complaint or pain during the process. Had to admit, it softened me a good bit. Guaranteed some of those bullets had my name on them.

"Pet," he grunted, still with his back to me while I stared. I waited, but when he said nothing else I realized it was a summons. I waded to the steps and got out of the pool-like tub, dripping on the rough metal floor behind him. "Here," he rumbled, his voice lower as he continued to hold still. I went to the table and stood beside him and he turned to face me, his abdomen a grotesque mass of glowing green gouges that made me recoil. "Watch," he growled, then raised his left arm, lifted the instrument in his right hand, and pressed the tip to the oozing evidence of another bullet wound located midway between his shoulder and elbow. There was a display on top of the instrument that showed bright red yautja symbols, and he waited until it settled on a sort of Y shaped thing, then pulled the trigger. There was a soft click and he let out a quiet breath, pulling the instrument away and dropping another bullet on the table by pulling the trigger again. "Now you," he said, holding the thing out. I took it, feeling how hot it was, and he turned his back to me. There were another three bullet wounds in his lower back.

"Jesus Christ," I swore, realizing what he expected me to do.

"Now, Pet," he growled, and I got a grip on the too-big-for-my-hand instrument and placed my finger on the trigger, which activated it. There was a low whine then flashing symbols, and I winced, placed my left hand on the middle of Synsen's back to keep steady, then touched the tip of the gun-like thing into the first wound and held it there. I waited til the Y-shaped symbol appeared and held, then pulled the trigger. The thing popped in my hand and Synsen let out a breath; when I pulled the gun back I saw a glowing green bullet clenched in its prongs. The slug was a nasty one, a hollow point that had blossomed on impact, designed to create a bigger hole. Thing was flattened out like it had been shot at a brick wall. No wonder he'd gone all chop-suey on their asses the minute they'd started shooting. "Ah-ghen," he growled, and I hastily unloaded the bullet on the table then went to the next one.

Under my left hand, still flattened on his back, I could feel his rigid tension as I recovered the last two bullets. I hoped like hell that I never got shot while in Synsen's custody; if he tried to use this thing on me without knocking me out first I was going to shriek like a schoolgirl. He could play tough all he wanted but I was willing to bet that extracting bullets this way hurt like a motherfucker.

"Ngot," he sighed, turning and taking the instrument from my hand, then setting it on the table next to nine blood-caked bullets. "This," he said, holding out a stick with goop on it. When I took it he turned around again and I lightly slathered the stuff over one of the wounds. "All," he growled, so I winced and worked it into the wound. Then did it another two times as he took the stick back and gathered more goop out of a tube before handing it back. I hesitated when he turned to face me and expected me to treat the ones he could reach, too, then I subsided and just did it. The stuff seemed to stop the bleeding and pull the wounds closed a bit more, constricting skin and blood vessels. I supposed, based on Synsen's rigid posture and rough breathing, that this also hurt like a motherfucker.

Amazingly, other than the one bullet wound on the inside of his left bicep there were no others on his extremities. These were trained soldiers going for the kill shot, aiming for full mass. Probably had been told to avoid his head, since the metal faceplate protected a good portion of it. Straight-on, his piecemeal armor was ample protection everywhere but his lower belly where he'd sustained the most damage; the wound on his inner arm had probably occurred while he was waling that spear around like a helicopter blade, either a ricochet or a lucky shot.

"Ngot," he said again as he took the stick back after the last wound, stuck it in the tube and left it there. Despite the number of hits, he'd sustained very little damage and lost a minor amount of blood; yautja skin was a tough bitch to penetrate and it was backed by dense, solid muscle tissue. Synsen's body was a mess of scars that testified to the life he'd led and the battles he'd waged. These were just a few more to add to his collection.

"Hey," I said quietly as he started gathering items up to put back in the case. He paused and looked at me, his breathing already settling now that the ordeal was over. "Thanks," I said, then motioned at the pile of spent rounds on the table. "Figure maybe one or two of those were meant for me, and I doubt I would have handled them as well as you did."

He ticked rapidly, one upper tusk striking the lower to make the sound, then he reached up and touched the pads of his fingers to his mark on my cheek. And just then I realized that I was buck naked. Kind of forgot in the heat of the moment, stuffing things into oozing bullet wounds and so wholly focused on my task that everything else seemed inconsequential, but just right now it felt suddenly of paramount importance.

"Ngot, Pet," Synsen rumbled quietly, then stroked his fingertips down my cheek, his claws lightly trailing. "Bath," he said, then turned away.

In a few minutes as he chuffed and joined me in the bathing pool, I snuck a quick peek from under my brows. The lump of non-aroused dark flesh between his massive thighs was currently about the size of my fist. My eyes skated away as Synsen lowered himself into the hot liquid with a low, pleased rumble, then moved to the far side where it was deeper and he could soak to his neck.

The tub wasn't exactly filled with water. Whatever it was, it was hot and liquidy, with an amber tinge and the consistence of mercury. I could cup it in my hands and lift some out while the rest slipped and rolled down my skin back into the tub. Stuff had weight and substance and was heated just shy of too hot for me to tolerate. The density of it made it feel, when I was immersed, like I was in a comfortable cocoon. I suspected it had medicinal properties to it, since it tingled against any cuts or scrapes then seemed to speed their healing. I also knew it worked wonders on any sore and aching muscles, since some process kept the heavy liquid churning so it buffeted and pulsed over my body like it was massaging me.

I snuck a glance at my captor and saw his eyes were closed, then I settled into a thousand-yard stare to mull over the tumultuous events of the day, still uncertain of the decision I'd made. The decision to think of the bigger picture, to kill my own kind and break Synsen out of that cell. I could be hanging ten in the facility's mess hall with Stupid right now, eating their crappy food. Taking a nap on a lumpy cot. Climbing over the cliff behind the facility on my way to possible freedom.

Conversely, I realized, I might never have escaped a new kind of captivity where my prison guards were my own kind. I drew in a deep, slow breath, held it, then let it ease out of me quietly. Hard for me to say which captivity would be more preferable. It was a moot point now anyway; I'd be seen as a traitor to my kind for what I'd done, regardless of the fact that by killing those involved I'd probably saved a good number of those who hadn't been. At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

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><p>Synsen settled in the bath, feeling his newest wounds tingle unpleasantly in the antiseptic-treated water. Though outwardly he remained calm, the knife had thrown him off. Aggravated him. He wasn't sure how he'd missed such a thing. It bothered him because recent events had reminded him how very deadly his Pet could be. Since her capture and over the course of her training she'd struck out at him on any number of occasions, but never with a weapon; he was careful to keep them from her. Had she retained the knife and attempted to use it on him...he growled low, in the back of his throat.<p>

She had done it before, he remembered. Not only shot him, but stabbed him. It had only been in the final seconds before killing her that his senses alerted him to the fact that this ooman soldier was female. To make a pet out of her had been an impulsive decision on his part; such a thing had been playing around the edges of his mind for years and when the opportunity arose he took it, thinking that if she ended up being more trouble than she was worth he would simply finish the job of killing her.

She had, as it turned out, been very a very lucrative possession for him. The same enticing scent that had saved her from his killing her was all it took to drive other - especially younger - males into aggression. Having captured her just before the mating season, he had some time to start working with her, taming her enough to be able to leave her alone in his quarters and to get her to acceptably learn to take a daily walk with him around the clan ship. The walks incited challenges, giving him the opportunity to show off his skills in a fight he was never directly responsible for provoking. Only a very stupid yautja would challenge an Arbitrator...or a yautja who'd lost all reason and common sense in a hormonal surge brought on by the scent of a female in estrus. The ability to leave her locked alone in his quarters for a few hours at a time gave him the the ability to reap the rewards as word of his fights and his pet spread and reached the females seeking a mating partner this season.

Now that the season was over, Synsen and a few of his fellow Arbitrators decided to embark on a recreational leisure hunt, choosing their traditional post-breeding-season prey, oomans. He kept his pet with him; on recreational leisure hunts she had proven to be good bait, provided the environment of whatever planet he took her to wouldn't kill her. If so, she would remain locked in his quarters on the transport ship. As this was her native planet, it was environmentally safe to let her leave the ship, but unwise to try and use her as bait. Instead, he'd pushed her into a hard run and led her well away from the area he and his comrades wished to hunt.

He hadn't told her she was on her home planet, of course, and he'd taken her to worlds with similar environments before. The implant he'd given her would keep track of her movements and whereabouts, and when he was satisfied that he'd led her a safe distance from the fortified ooman encampment he'd left her on her own to return to his hunt brothers. It was an island installation similar to the one where he'd found her but much larger, lacking in large predators that would pose a danger to her. She could wander safely and when the hunt was done he would return and collect her.

That had been the plan, at least. He blamed the debacle that had followed on Chi'kal-de, whose job it was to properly scout the terrain from orbit and provide the necessary information to the rest of them. Chi'kal-de had apparently not seen fit to advise him that there was another ooman installation on the far side of the island where he'd left his pet.

The hunt had been successfully completed in a matter of hours and had served several purposes. For Synsen and his fellow Arbitrators, hunting and eradicating armed installations of this species was a good way to sharpen them back up for the work ahead after a leisurely breeding season. In addition, experience had taught them that remote military bases like this one were often fronts for the ooman 'study' of kainde amedha. In this particular case no hard meats had been present, but he was fairly certain that the cell he'd been held in had been intended for kainde amedha, not yautja. The cell had been in the other installation, the one that Chi'kal-de had failed to mention, the one where his pet was being held.

He was unsure if she had gone willingly to the other ooman military base or if she'd been captured. She hadn't been imprisoned, and whether or not it had been the plan, the oomans had used his pet to turn the tables on him, using her as bait to draw him in and sedating him from a distance with powerful tranquilizers. He realized he'd encountered another encampment with armed oomans when he'd woken up in that cell, stripped of all his weapons and equipment. His sheer outrage had allowed him to quickly shake off the effects of the tranquilizers, and while he seethed and tried to figure a way out for himself before his hunt brothers shamed him with a rescue, his pet had appeared.

Synsen rumbled and shifted his position in the hot bath, opening his eyes momentarily to check on the status and position of his pet. She was still where she had been, sitting in the shallows and staring blankly across the bathing room.

He remembered how very strongly he'd wanted to kill her the minute she had appeared, loose and unbound among his captors. If it was the last thing he did, he'd intended to taste her blood and hear her screams as he personally ended her existence. What he'd been told about her kind was true: they were devious and dishonorable and not to be trusted. He'd been too lax with her, too generous. It had been his arrogance that drove him to show off to the others with her, treating her at times like a spoiled yautja pup, at other times like an unBlooded being trained. He had allowed her free run of his quarters, access to his bathing chamber and bed. Daily walks to familiarize her with her new world, to get her used to her surroundings and to broadcast her existence to the others in the clan so they would know who she belonged to. Brought her along on hunts, fed her foods of the highest quality and forcibly protected her from the inappropriate attentions of some of the youngsters. He'd even obtained an aseigan for the main purpose of attending to her when her cycle sent her into estrus and he found her scent to tempting for him to tolerate.

All this and for a time during his confinement he believed that his pampered pet had turned on him and betrayed him; the thought had made him h'ulij-bpe, crazy, to the point where retribution for the insult was more important than escape.

"Pet," he growled. She blinked, then turned her head and looked at him. "How with oomans?"

She blinked again and her flat face puckered like it was collapsing in on itself. She was ugly but Synsen couldn't say she was hideous; as a hunter of alien beings for centuries he'd become immune to such simple thinking. There was a certain beauty in every creature, whether it was form or function or some other quality. In the case of his pet, Synsen found her dainty physique an attraction and the perfume of her scent was certainly pleasant to his senses.

"The soldiers, you mean?" she asked him, her face still scrunched.

He rumbled, wondering if she was playing at being stupid to annoy him. "Sei-i," he growled flatly.

She hitched herself up in the water a bit. "I was just walking around and I ran into a guy," she said simply. As he stared at her, waiting, she shrugged and looked away. "He grabbed me and dragged me to the facility, then they started interrogating me until you showed up. Apparently I wasn't supposed to be there." A quick flash of teeth as she met his eyes again. "Good thing, too. They weren't buying my story til they saw you."

He didn't follow her word-for-word, but understood enough to know that she hadn't gone willingly into the encampment then conspired to lay a trap for him. In an effort to save face, he'd told the others that his pet had helped secure his freedom, leading them to show her gestures of respect. That, and the fact that she'd killed her own kind on his behalf, proving her loyalty.

So then. She'd killed both kainde amedha and oomans and had attempted to kill him. Such a thing was to be respected, though he was feeling a need to put her in the kehrite to remind her of her place.

Later. He would rest his pet and himself, then he would push her to a spar. He needed time to think on what had happened and come to a decision regarding how he felt about it. Her loyalty raised her value to him and made her less of a stupid animal and more of a trusted companion. She was a quick thinker, an innovator, and brave to take on a well-armed soldier with an improvised weapon. Seeing that, then her rapid elimination of the other threats excepting the one she'd used to open his cell, had had an arousing effect on him. She'd stood up to them and to him, cursing him even as he blatantly threatened her.

_Ell-osde' pauk_, he mused. She'd been a tempting tidbit since he'd captured her but now, with proof of her honor, one of the last barriers he'd erected between them was gone. He would not lower himself to rut with a mere animal. In his elation at being freed and discovering that his ooman was loyal to him and not just a simple animal, he'd let slip something he'd been considering but battling, in response to her defiant 'fuck you'. While yautja weren't encouraged to mate outside their species, it happened more often than some of the more conservative Elders would like to hear. Needs were needs, conquests were conquests. Nothing followed a good fight better than a good fuck, and there were desperate times for some where any female would do. For some aberrants a warm body of any kind, male or female, yautja or animal would suffice, but they risked being found out and killed for committing such a despicable act, not to mention the fact of the dishonor and disrespect a yautja showed for himself by doing such a thing.

Then there were oomans, the exceptions to the rule. The Elders strictly controlled access to their home planet as many felt that oomans skirted the firmly drawn line between animal and not-animal. While they were considered to be nowhere near the level of yautja in terms of their standard of intelligence and their definition of civilized behavior, many of the older hunters were intrigued by them. The younger had no time or patience for intrigue and were more focused on increasing their standing in their clans while relentlessly hunting to accumulate trophies.

But with age and experience that early desperation tempered and faded enough to allow for observance, for the realization to occur to those who hunted oomans that they were more than ugly simian beasts. Though comparatively primitive, they had technology, language, religion. All baffling to yautja, of course, but clear proof of a societal structure, of culture. The biggest barrier to those yautja who determined what was legal to hunt and what wasn't was ooman tendency toward violence. Then there was the fact that there seemed to be no cohesiveness among oomankind, major differences between the language and religion and culture of one area to the next that caused strife between factions. It was decided that if they relentlessly fought and killed each other, it was acceptable for yautja to fight and kill them. Not outright extermination but small localized hunts of armed males.

Over the centuries, oomankind had progressed and populations increased, but still their war-like mentality remained predominant. While no strangers to war and territory disputes, the yautja clans didn't fight prolonged battles with each other, and disagreements tended to be settled on much smaller scales. Synsen supposed that having an entire universe to share gave them plenty of room to spread out, but there was also the yautja culture of one-on-one fighting to resolve disputes, with a clear winner and loser. War only erupted rarely, when one side accused another of dishonor during the usual method of settling disagreements.

He glanced over as his personal exception to the rules climbed out of the tub, squeezed the water from her mane, then padded over to the pile of drying furs and wrapped one around her body. He suspected that those who took the most offense to her presence on the clan ship were envious. Other high ranking males had pets but they were hunting aids, used to either track down or drive prey toward their masters. He'd used his pet for hunting, too, as a lure to bring large, elusive predators in while he remained hidden and discreetly tracked her.

There was an ulterior motive to her capture and taming, though. An extension of Synsen's curiosity regarding her species, a living trophy to show off and impress the females, and just maybe an acceptably pleasurable outlet for his urges. For yautja, randiness only increased with age. While Synsen had excellent self control he had been running out of reasons why he couldn't have what he wanted, an exotic sentient female pet to share his quarters, join him on long trips, warm his bed, provide companionship...and perhaps be receptive to the honor of his physical attentions.

Mating was considered an honorable pursuit only provided it was done with the proper intent. Males rutting with other males was as shameful a thing as a male pleasuring himself, and while mating anything other than a yautja female was generally discouraged, males had another more subtle take on it. While respect and high regard for females was ingrained in their kind, they considered themselves to be the most dominant and supreme forms of life in the universe. To mate with the females of another species was to show that female a high honor: the attention of a yautja male.

While taking an ooman for a pet and bringing her to the clan ship was a rare thing, Synsen was aware of more than a few males who kept their 'pet' on her home planet and visited her from time to time as the need arose in the off-season. As an Arbitrator who spent considerable time off the clan ship and traveling the distant reaches of space, his opportunities to visit the ooman planet were rare, and the impact of the attractive nuisance of an ooman female on the clan ship was limited. As an Elder, well advanced in age, he had not only sired his share of sucklings, but if this past mating season was any indication, he was still in demand despite the presence of the ooman female. And for his internal argument that rutting with anything other than a yautja female was a shameful waste of emission, he told himself he would refrain from using the ooman during the mating season.

His pet paced out of the bathing room, the fur wrapped around her shoulders. He rumbled quietly to himself, mentally inventorying his sleeping quarters to try and recall if he'd left any potential weapons lying around. It was his normal habit not to, but with the real possibility of being attacked in his sleep he was particularly careful to pay attention to anything that could be used against him. Especially now that he'd seen his pet use an electronic device to strike a male ooman soldier in the head hard enough to kill him with one blow. If she dared to try such a thing on him...his thought hesitated, then he growled. He would view it as as he did any challenge from a female, he concluded. As a pre-mating test of his reflexes and strength and ability to subdue her.

Still staring at the door as his mind worked with a sudden sharp mental acuity in the wake of this day's events, Synsen began to plan out his next steps instead of passively waiting to see what unfolded each day with his pet. Now that his indecision regarding her had been resolved he was eager to pursue training her to accept what he had in mind. Food first, then rest, he decided. No doubt word of what had happened on this hunt would spread and he suspected he would sense a difference the next time he took her for a walk. A feral ooman female pet was one thing; an ooman female pet who had risked her own life and killed others in order to successfully free her yautja master from capture deserved considerably more respect. In Synsen's mind, it meant that she had made her decision and chosen him instead of the possibility of her freedom, discounting her feeble attempt to slip his notice after freeing him. That, he decided, had just been her challenge, a test of his ability to quickly eliminate the surrounding threats and prove that her interest in him was returned. Had she not just even thanked him for the damage he'd sustained, proving that she was well aware that he'd protected her from the soldiers?

She was deserving of further interest from him most of all, perhaps even eager for the honor of receiving his sexual attention. She would be the exception to the tradition that dictated all pets were for hunting, and if the females rejected him for it, so be it. He had fathered enough sucklings to satisfy his lineage and fulfill his duty to his clan. The worst that could happen would be a shunning that meant he would be unwelcome on the clan ship. He wouldn't be the first Elder Arbitrator who was a social outcast and he'd had decades of experience at being self-sufficient so it was a risk he was willing to take.


	5. Chapter 5

I needed a little break from _Start of a New Life_, and when I went back to writing I was in the mood for more "ominous a-hole yautja" development so I ended up here. On a side note, I've been posting monthly updates to my author's page so if I drop off the face of the earth and disappear for a bit you can check in there and see what's up.

Standard Stupe disclaimers: I don't own the concept of Predator and this is a mature-rated story for language and sexual content. Readers be warned!

* * *

><p>Feeling unpleasantly disoriented, I wandered Synsen's quarters for a bit, the thickest pelt from the bed draped over my shoulders and trailing behind me like a kingly cape as I held it closed. Thing was da bomb; weighed about a ton and was like a giant mutant mink, soft and silky. I was aware that the ship had gone from a quiet idle into some other gear, one that thumped rhythmically and meant that we were on the move again. Mentally I berated myself as I paced; I should have left his scaly green ass there. Should have played the part of the innocent victim – which I <em>was<em>, goddamnit – and kept out of it. Let them sharpen their sticks and poke at him with them all they wanted. Hell, he could damned well handle himself, and even if he'd managed to get loose on his own or his bro's busted him out, maybe it would have taught him a valuable lesson about messing with humans and taking them as pets.

Steaming, I adjusted the fur around myself as I worked up to a good, solid stomping. Chances were better than excellent that that had been my only opportunity to escape this nightmare. Where things would go from here were anyone's guess...especially in light of the fact that Synsen had made it a point to bring up the fact that his estimation of me had gone up a notch. I was Blooded now, he'd said. While among yautja that was a respectable title, I had no idea what it meant for me. More valuable...maybe he was thinking of selling me or something. Great. Me and and six bucks could buy him a cup of coffee from Starbuck's.

Now I was sweating. Plus, top it off, I had to pee, and the damned toilet just happened to be in the same room as the damned bathtub. I was so not copping a squat for Synsen's viewing entertainment.

_Who in god's name_, I asked myself, _puts an Olympic-sized hot tub in the same room as their toilet? What kind of asinine interior design scheme is that? _Then again, the word _classy_ didn't exactly describe a yautja. _Privacy_, either, come to think of it.

To distract myself from my growing urgency, I applied myself to more words that _didn't_ describe yautja. _Tactful. Considerate. Delicate_. Oh, and _accommodating_, that was a good one.

"I should have pissed in your fucking bathtub!" I hollered at the door between the sleeping quarters and the bathroom, incensed.

_Patient_. That one had never applied to me, either. I could bunch the fur up on the floor and pee on that. Tell him I was marking my territory or something, see if he fell for it.

_Right. That just might lower my asking price_, I thought. _For sale, one Blooded ooman female, good for a laugh every time she opens her mouth, fun to knock around and will guaranteed break you out of jail. Needs housebreaking...pisses on pelts so don't leave 'em lying around._

I giggled a little at the thought of yautja classified ads, which didn't help my situation. Then the door slid open and I backpedaled as Synsen strolled into the room all buck-naked and proud of it. _For fuck's sake, put some clothes on_, I thought irritably._ The least you could do with me around is pretend you have some class._

He was prepared to be oblivious to me until I glared too long and screwed that opportunity up, too. Stopping short, he shifted to face me with a low growl. Great, full frontal. I steeled myself to keep my eyes from drifting and lifted my chin defiantly.

"Took you long enough," I snapped, then tried to gather up my fur covering in the most dignified manner possible and held back from outright running for the toilet. His rumble followed me, a low, steady throbbing full of baritone bass as he watched my regal stroll.

I emptied my bladder in record time, staring at the door and willing Synsen to mind his own damned business. I'd learned the hard way that if there was any way to lock the bathroom door, it wasn't obvious. Also, there was an apparent time limit on my potty breaks and if I lingered more than a few minutes Synsen thought nothing of coming in to check on me. Nothing says constipation like a yautja walking in and staring at you when you're trying to move your bowels.

Had to admit that hadn't happened in awhile, but the fact that the sonuvabitch did it to me three times made my wariness linger. In the early days he fed me nothing but meat. And worse than that, it was a solid lump of bloodiness once every few days. It was, I came to realize, exactly what he ate and how often he ate, though his portion was considerably larger. While I liked a good steak myself, I tended to prefer mine cooked and interspersed with other things, preferably smaller portions several times a day instead of gigantic slabs every few days. Sucker almost killed me before he figured it out, and now watching me hork down tough, leafy green things was apparently another source of great amusement for him.

Pottying finished, I cleaned myself up with a quick rinse in the shower; despite all the technology, yautja hadn't thought to invent toilet paper yet. Like I said, _class_. I patted myself dry and decided that was sort of unfair, since Synsen had proven himself to be almost obsessively clean and had made it clear to me from day one – in not so many words – that he considered me to be a filthy little piggie. I had balked at stepping foot into that giant hot tub for a multitude of reasons: it smelled medicinal, it steamed like a giant crock pot, the room was dark, and I couldn't see how deep it was. While I'd stood there staring and mulling it over, wondering if he intended to cook me and cut some carrots and potatoes while I parboiled, he picked me up and tossed me in. When I surfaced, he removed his loincloth and strolled around it partway, then stepped down into it. Steps. The sonovabitch. I'd tried to scramble out like a half-drowned rat a few times and he'd simply grab a leg and tug me back under until I finally decided to just go with it and drown. That was when he finally gave in and boosted me out with a shove, letting me skate across the metal planks and gag for a bit. Good times.

Gathering myself, readjusting the fur, I strolled out of the bathing room with my chin lifted and my dignity temporarily intact. Synsen glanced over, gave me a sweeping head-to-toe, then returned his attention to what he'd been doing: fiddling with his mask. There was a table in his quarters with a pair of chairs, all ridiculously sized so that if I sat in one my feet dangled off the floor and the top of the table was almost level with my collarbones.

I paused, suddenly aware that I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to do now that my temper tantrum had passed. There was a sudden burst of sound and I flinched; Synsen's mask was hooked up to some cables on the table, and there was a projection above it. The sound was distorted but recognizable: human voices, men shouting, bursts of automatic gunfire. The images, three dimensional but blobby to my eyes, were distinguishable enough for me to make out human shapes. As I slithered closer and stared, I realized I was seeing a recording of what Synsen had seen through his mask, played back.

He glanced at me again, holding the mask in both hands, the complex interior lined with pressure pads that lined up with his tusks and mandibles when he wore it. He did something that fast-forwarded the playback and I blinked at the speed of the rapidly moving images before they slowed back to normal time. It had been chaotic but now there was a relatively even field projected, the occasional vertical line, regularly spaced rectangles nearer the top, blotches here and there. A corridor, I realized. There was a corner coming up and I found myself holding my breath and transfixed; this was like playing one of those old timey first-person shooting games, like Castle Wolfenstein or Duke Nukem.

Suddenly there was a guy standing around the corner and I flinched in reaction, absorbed. Then Synsen's massive clawed paws came up into view, clearly outlined and showing brilliant coloration as they closed on either side of the guy's head. There was a shout, all the reaction he had time for before his head caved in with a sickening crunch and squelch and a burst of color. Brutal but quick. As the playback fast-forwarded again I swallowed thickly and cut my eyes toward Synsen, reminded that though this yautja might be a bully he certainly made an effort to curb his immense strength when it came to me.

More chaotic and hard-to-decipher footage of a battle, then what I assumed was Synsen and company doing a walk-through to check for leftovers. This was what he'd been doing after he'd dropped me off in the middle of a damned jungle, patted my head, and ran off, I realized. The other yautja moved in and out of his field of vision, then he was back outside whatever building he'd terrorized for shits and giggles. Heading back for me, I assumed, watching his perimeter sweep before he headed out, the view changing as I guessed he changed vision modes in his mask. He could perform that neat trick in the midst of jumping tree to tree, and the effect was dizzying to watch.

He fast-forwarded again, then backed up a bit, stopping to play back the sound of human shouting. I could clearly hear his recorded annoyed vocalization, the yautja equivalent of 'Oh, what the hell now?' before he grunted sharply and looked down. Apparently he was clinging to the side of a tree, and he looked down at his massively bunched thigh and the projectile sticking out of it. He snarled, then suddenly he was falling.

With a grunt, the live-action Synsen fast-forwarded through his impressive drop to the leaf litter at the base of the tree, and though I winced I couldn't help but giggle. When he glanced at me I bared my teeth in a grin. "Ho-ho, got you good, huh?" I mocked. His heavy brow lowered and he let out a low, trickling growl, his fierce eyes glowing. I raised a hand and made a descending whistle as I let it fall, miming his plummet. "You strolled right the hell into that one," I teased, vindictively thrilled to have the opportunity to point out his shortcomings for once. I'd been told that his approach had tripped sensors and they'd shot him with a tranquilizer, but now I was seeing what had happened from his point of view.

His ominous expression eased and he chuffed dismissively but I'd be willing to bet that burned like hell. He let it go, though I was sure I'd pay for my mocking at some point in the near future, and he continued the playback. Despite the fact that the mask was now off its owner it was still recording. The visual was useless once the scientists flipped it face-down on the table and started poking around at its innards, but their voices could be heard as they exclaimed over everything in excitement. There were buzzing flashes as their prodding changed visual modes, but a tabletop was a tabletop no matter how the mask looked at it.

Fast-forward again, going back to real time once the mask was lifted from the table. I listened to Synsen's recorded satisfied rumble through the hidden speakers as he settled it in place, blinking as he quickly cycled through its vision modes and did an apparent systems check at lightning speed. How he handled that thing without Advil and anti-nausea medication was a mystery to me. I smirked now as he apparently glanced over to check on recorded me, seeing my blobby, colorful self crouched over Stupid and going to town as I ransacked his goodies. Then a sweep of the room, the mask pinging rapidly as it identified Synsen's equipment, yautja scrawl flashing as it highlighted the pieces of his armor and various weapons scattered around. He fast-forwarded through his retrieval and donning, pausing to watch as he latched the greaves onto his calves.

"Loody kallay?" I heard a distorted, almost mechanical voice drawl, sex indeterminable. The view lifted and settled on me, standing across the room with the big pulse rifle clutched in my hands. The mask started pinging off information again, little call-outs that informed Synsen I was loaded for bear as it identified weapons like crazy. When recorded me activated the pulse rifle the mask alerted on it. Til now I'd had no idea the thing was a tattle-taling little bitch, and I glanced quickly at it and debated the merits of submerging it in the hot tub or beating it with a chair.

Live Synsen chuffed as he paused the playback and I flinched and redirected my attention from glaring at the mask and debating the best method of its destruction to look at my captor. The sound was the specific one he reserved for me, the one that eloquently conveyed his opinion of my utter and complete stupidity. "You yautja-speak bad," he informed me in his John Wayne drawl.

"Oh, and like your grasp of english makes you a Rhodes scholar," I shot before thinking. I cringed as he stared at me, his eyes unnaturally wide. "That's a compliment," I said hastily, before he decided I'd just insulted him.

There was smoldering going on behind his gaze as it narrowed, but in the end I think he bought my lie because it was easier to believe than that I'd actually had the balls to mouth off at him to his face. "This little loody kallay got you outta there, right?" I hedged, shrugging under the fur. He chuffed, more lightly this time, following it up with a bestial rumble.

"Not loody kallay," he said, mocking me by mimicking my voice and the way I'd said _lou-dte kalei_. Blame me for not having multiple complex vocal chords, a voice like a glacier grinding over an ice field and a bitchin' set of mandibles, why don't you? I scowled. Half the time I couldn't make heads or tails out of what he and the rest of his kind were saying, since it all came across like the bass saxophone section of a band warming up for a concert. Throw in a few clicks, chatters and trills and that was pretty much it.

He grunted, probably at the face I was making, then chirred softly, a sound of mild amusement. This was why when I had the opportunity to take a shot at him, I took it. His constant derisive mocking and relentless hazing were worse than any I'd experienced as the only female member of an all-male military unit, and that was saying something. While I liked hanging out with men, preferred it even, this was like living in a SEAL team's gym locker. Only thing missing was a little towel-snapping action.

"Not loody kallay," he said again, "_sain'ja_." He spread his mandibles and enunciated carefully, meeting my eyes. I glowered at him, not taking the bait by asking what the hell that meant, sure it was another insult. Probably something akin to 'little piece of poop'. He waited, then blinked those incredible eyes and snorted, a breathy huff.

"Whatever," I said flatly. It was easier to just go along with it than to try and argue. I did, however, wince at his 'idiot' chuff. That was getting mighty old and really starting to wear on me.

Returning his attention to his mask and fast-forwarding his memories, he let it play as he bore down on me from across the room while I stood there like a dumbass. He boldly ignored the mask's warnings about the pulse rifle being active and I watched them pop up in small windows with hash marks indicating specific parts of the gun. When he paused, staring down at me, I could make out the features of my face through the riot of colors: eyes, brows, nose, lips, hair.

"Ell-osde' pauk?" his gruff voice growled, followed by a high trill of question. Then a chuff, and a drawling, "Ell-o-see-day pock."

"Sound like a rodeo clown with a speed impediment," I muttered under my breath as I watched, crossing my arms beneath the fur in annoyance and still holding it closed over my front. Synsen's head turned and he looked at me, letting it play on.

"Genaquavil bezab'a tdo," I heard his voice say, then saw my colorful self flare a deeper, darker red before he paused the playback as his clawed thumb touched the inflamed and obvious scar on my scarlet cheek.

I blinked and looked at him, then stepped back, my foot catching on the trailing length of the pelt. "What?" I demanded, feeling my scalp prickle with a growing sense of alarm. Clearly it wasn't a coincidence that he'd run through that particular exchange where he'd brought up my telling him 'fuck you' and him saying he would like to, pausing it right there.

His bright amber eyes swept down my front, then lifted to settle again on my face as he stilled. _Uh-oh_, my mind squeaked. He wouldn't really...would he? "Get a grip," I snapped stupidly. Wasn't he just getting his freak on sometime in the last week or so? Right before we left the clan ship? Call me stupid, but I knew what the hell he was up to back there. It wasn't like he made any tremendous effort to hide it from me or anything; I mean, he _did_ hook up and score right the hell in front of me once. Wasn't like he was going through a long dry spell or anything. Like I was. I scowled and took another step back, feeling the fur tighten over my shoulders as I stood on it.

I _hated_ that scary still thing he was doing right now. As a modern human being I liked to think that the primitive instincts and fears of my ancestors had disappeared, but Synsen had the ability to boil me down to nothing but a collection of raw nerve endings with a single look. You never want to play 'Red-light green-light' with a yautja. Yautja could do still..._scary_ still. You turn your back and say 'green light', then wait a second and say 'red light' and look and they're twenty feet away and frozen like a statue, looking all innocent and harmless or their best approximation of it. Then you turn your back again, do the red light/green light thing again and turn around to find out that in the three seconds you weren't looking they're already roasting seventeen feet of your intestines over an open fire and perusing a wine list to pick a vintage that would best compliment your liver. And Synsen had perfected it and made it an art form where he didn't even appear to be breathing. I knew damned well that I could blink and in that time he could still be where I'd last seen him or halfway across the ship.

"Stop that," I said weakly, refusing to blink. "Go rub one out in the shower or something if you're so hard up." Hell, I would do exactly that myself if I wasn't terrified of him walking in on me while I was at it.

He flared a bit and grumbled, finally moving. He set the mask aside on its small stand then rose, all of a sudden reminding me he was naked. He stepped closer and I cringed, tightening my grip on the fur that held me trapped, but all he did was pass his massive hand over my head as he walked by me, across my crown and down the back, claws lifted enough to comb through my hair but not contact my scalp. I watched from the corner of my eye as he went to a storage unit against the wall and retrieved a russet loincloth from a drawer, staring discretely as he wound it between his legs and around his waist with practiced familiarity, ensuring a perfect drape. Then he straightened, turned, and exited the room without a word.

"What. The. _Hell_," I muttered to myself, finally releasing a breath and some tension as I stared at the door he had gone through.

* * *

><p>Synsen rumbled to himself as he strolled, in no rush as he headed off to secure food for himself and the female. Regardless of his pet's alarm at his replaying his admission to remind her, to him it had been an important first step in establishing his expectation for sexual submission from her going forward, and what he considered a fair exchange for his protection and care. It had been a trying day, one that, while wearying, had proven to be invigorating at the same time. He had been debating, now that the breeding season was over, what to do about his pet. To take her along with him on his travels would be worthwhile to him only so far as she pleased him; he had no particular desire to house and feed an alien animal, no matter how intelligent and entertaining it was, unless it was useful to him somehow. As far as he'd been concerned, she'd earned her death with her involvement with the oomans who were keeping and breeding the kainde amedha, in direct violation of yautja code. Doubly so when she'd boldly run right at him, then fired her weapon at him when he knocked her down. <em>Hulij-bpe<em>, indeed. Crazy ooman female. The only thing that had spared her life right there and then had been his curiosity.

He chattered a greeting to his hunt brothers when he found them already eating, then settled in to join them and their traditional discussion of the hunt. Chi'kal-de was with them, listening in with excited anticipation, sitting beside his mentor Ne'hemikta, the Arbitrator class's most senior and respected Ancient. For now, Synsen set aside his thoughts of his pet and applied himself to eating, adding to the discussion where his input was necessary, assuring the others that he would upload the data from his biohelm before his rest cycle, and biding his time. He was ravenous after his ordeal and ate heartily, catching Chi'kal-de's eye once and grunting through a mouthful. The younger Blooded lowered his head in chastisement, flaring his tresses as he was put on notice that Synsen wasn't going to let his overlooking the other ooman facility go without comment.

Chi'kal-de was fortunate, then, that after a satisfying meal of the cow meat they'd helped themselves to from the ooman facility and a good dose of c'ntlip, Synsen found his former temper soothed enough to not be too hard on him. After all, the debacle had given his pet an opportunity to prove her worth, and had put Synsen in mind of what else she might be useful for.

Ne'hemikta stayed out of it, long tusks curved in amusement as he listened in to Synsen's disarmingly mild invitation to meet Chi'kal-de in the kehrite for some sparring after a good rest. Though he was wary, Chi'kal-de was not about to refuse him, and politely thanked him for the invitation. Ne'hemikta dismissed him, then turned his unfathomably patient gaze to Synsen as he helped himself to another cup of liquor from the pitcher.

"You are not to kill him," the Ancient said quietly but firmly, a direct order that was, quite honestly, not his to give. When Synsen chuffed dismissively, subtly broadcasting his unwillingness to discuss what he had in mind for Chi'kal-de's punishment by gazing into his goblet while he swirled the c'ntlip, Ne'hemikta bristled. "Your pet is not our concern," the Ancient reminded him. "You are responsible for it. If you want to take chances by letting it run loose on its homeworld then you are responsible for what happens to it!"

Synsen turned his head slightly to meet Ne'hemikta's eyes. "You are correct: what I do with my pet is not your concern," he rumbled quietly, and dipped his mandibles in a nod before continuing. "My pet did not put the rest of us in danger; your _pup_ did."

Ne'hemikta flinched visibly, and Ghei'tal and Trilliva chattered their agreement with Synsen's flat statement of plain fact. This gathering was the closest to democracy the yautja would ever come, as there were no leaders and no subordinates here, save for Ne'hemikta and his protege Chi'kal-de. All were Arbitrators and accustomed to a life of solitude, gathered together by the lure of the breeding season. With no other pressing business to attend to they had joined forces to eliminate a potential threat on the ooman homeworld before breaking off to attend to the needs of their clan.

"You will not kill him," Ne'hemikta insisted again. The Ancient was respected and liked, even by Synsen, though at this very moment he was issuing a low warning rumble and wondering how Ne'hemikta would look without tusks. They were tempting targets, huge and curving outward from his lower mandibles, evidence of his great age. The Ancient wore a modified biohelm because of them, one that left his heavily sagging mandibles free.

Backing off the temptation, Synsen relaxed in his seat and raised the goblet to his mouth, deftly spreading his own lower mandibles wide enough to set the lip of the cup over his lower fangs and pour himself a healthy shot. It burned pleasantly and left a tingle behind, evidence of a good, bracing liquor. "I will not kill him," he finally agreed, feeling sated. "But I will teach him a lesson that will guarantee he gives you more careful scouting reports in the future." The Ancient rumbled but subsided, and Synsen knew he was annoyed that his protege's mistake had been exposed by an ooman pet. He rose to his feet and looked at Ne'hemikta. "Would you prefer to thank me now, or after I discipline Chi'kal-de for a mistake that nearly exposed the rest of us?" he trilled softly. Ne'hemikta stared back at him silently as the other two rumbled quietly at the both of them. Synsen chuffed, point made, then gathered the plate of foodstuffs he'd collected for his pet and left the table with it.

She was still behaving anxiously, still wrapped in and dragging a sizable pelt from his sleeping pallet around his quarters. The animal it had come from could not only have eaten two of her in a single sitting, it was probably his most prized pelt, with its heavy hide and dense, plush fur. He carried the platter to the table and set it down, pleased by the way her attention went to him and stayed fixed. He sat and went to work downloading the data from his biohelm into the ship's data logs so it could be reviewed by the others, cutting out what had happened after he'd left them. If given a good enough reason to share it he might reconsider, but for now he decided to withhold it. The last thing he needed were comments regarding his blundering right into an apparent trap laid by the very primitives they had been in the process of culling.

"Pet," he rumbled quietly, then motioned at the untouched platter with his free hand, tapping the keys on the console in front of him idly with the claws of the other as he downloaded the entire excursion into his private logs. She came forward then, the pelt hissing across the floor behind her, and looked at the food.

"They gave me a sandwich," she said, and he lifted his goblet and helped himself to more c'ntlip. "I think it was supposed to be tuna fish. It was disgusting."

While she spoke, he lazily keyed over to another screen. His biohelm was still recording and translating, though it failed on the words 'sandwich' and 'tuna'. He got the gist though, that the oomans had fed her some meal of fish that had offended her.

"And brownies. They were like bricks," she added while he added a definition for sandwich, marking it as food, and tuna, marking it as a type of fish. He paused, interested at the analytical gymnastics of his translator before uploading the food definition, watching it break down the word 'sandwich' into multiple possibilities then offer him definitions. He grunted, deciding he would be offended at the offering, too. Sand he was familiar with, and any animal with a modicum of intelligence wouldn't find it palatable.

"They had good strawberry banana smoothies, though. Gave myself brain freeze."

His translator was having a field day with her unknown words. He disengaged and let it run, deciding to review and update at another time. "Eat," he grumbled, motioning again at the platter.

She looked at him. "Did you not hear me? I said I ate already."

He switched his eyes to her then dropped his gaze to the food pointedly. Sand, fish, browns and textured fruits that froze her brain, whatever those things were, were not appropriate food items as far as he was concerned. As he expected, she sighed and gave in, tightly gathering the pelt in one hand and reaching for a strip of cow with the other.

He marked and tagged several items in his recording for later review, wanting to better understand at which point the oomans had become alerted to his presence when he'd unwittingly strayed too close to the second facility, and wanting to analyze whatever speech and sound his biohelm had recorded from the moment he was divested of it. He savored the c'ntlip and worked idly, allowing his mind and body to wind down and relax. Later, he would deal with Ne'hemikta's student's failure and deliver correction on a scale that would be sure to drive his point home to Chi'kal-de and his master. He supposed, after the Ancient's attempt to draw a line on Chi'kal-de's punishment, that it was possible the Blooded had advised his mentor of the other facility and was told to disregard it as inconsequential. That therefore it was Ne'hemikta's failure and not Chi'kal-de's that had resulted in his and his pet's capture.

Ne'hemikta was a traditional, conservative yautja. Up until taking possession of his pet, Synsen would have defined himself the same way, though admittedly he was a touch more progressive and reactive than Ne'hemikta probably ever was even in his wildest youth. Synsen knew the Ancient was opposed to his bringing his pet along for this excursion and when asked to suggest what should be done with her, since leaving her locked in his quarters alone on the clan ship was not an option, Ne'hemikta had suggested she'd served her purpose. There was a slave market on the clan ship, he'd pointed out. With the breeding season just ended he would probably get a good trade for her from a desperate Blooded who'd had an unsuccessful season and was enticed enough by her scent to risk tainting his reputation by using her to satisfy his urges.

'Or would that interfere with your plans for it yourself?' Ne'hemikta had inquired archly, plainly communicating his distaste with the mere idea of rutting an ooman. Synsen had let it slide and hadn't dignified the Ancient with a response, but now he was quietly smoldering, though outwardly he betrayed no sign of it. Ne'hemikta's interference was understandable, but unacceptable. Were the female captured and left behind, she could pass on too much information about the yautja in general and the clan in particular to her people; even had he known she was in ooman custody before being captured himself Synsen would never have considered leaving her there. And as for trading her to another, Synsen's proprietary nature made him balk at the idea. He had captured and tamed her. He alone had the right to her after she had shot and stabbed him. And now she had made it known to him that she preferred his company even to that of her own kind. Plainly put, if he couldn't have what he wanted from her he would be left with no choice but to give her a quick and honorable end, as befitting a warrior of any species.

He glanced over at the platter; she did eat an impressive amount of food for such a small thing. She had subsided and was sifting through the fruit, staring blankly at the projection screens in front of him as she chewed. He grunted and helped himself to her cow meat, studying her as he ate.

_Not the screens_, he suddenly realized. She was staring at his biohelm with enough intensity that she barely paid attention to what she was eating. Despite being unsure of what was going through her head, he didn't like her fixation and growled to correct her. Caught, she flinched out of it and looked at him, heat rising upward from beneath the pelt and deepening her color.

"I'm done," she said abruptly, then turned from him and retreated to his sleeping pallet, finally returning the pelt to where it belonged.

When he joined her later, rumbling steadily in anticipation of a good rest, he discovered that his pet had cocooned herself entirely in the large hide and was wrapped snugly in it from head to toe, sound asleep. Tired and pleasantly sated, he was prepared to let her insolence go until he was made aware that lying beside her like this was akin to having a furred beast in his sleeping pallet. It brought to his mind Ne'hemikta's pointed goading that had just fallen short of implying that he was considering rutting with an animal.

Annoyed and mildly disgusted, he slid from the bed to stand beside it, reaching in the dark for the pelt and tugging sharply enough on it to lift his pet and spill her out of it. She squawked mid-spin as he indelicately freed her from the wrap, jolted abruptly awake and startled. As if wise to his mood she stilled and was silent as he settled the pelt over the entire sleeping pallet, and when he slid beneath it she scooted away, closer to the wall behind her, holding her body rigid. He said nothing as he settled himself comfortably, confident that his pet understood that he hadn't approved of her attempt to not only take personal possession of his choicest pelt, but that she wouldn't repeat the disgusting habit of wrapping herself in it like it was her own skin.

* * *

><p>Synsen was being moody and believe me, I noticed. After being levitated and spun out of a sound sleep I laid awake all night, listening to Synsen sleep the sleep of the innocent, chirring softly on every exhalation, occasionally grunting and flinching. No doubt pleasantly dreaming of splashing blood and oozing guts while I replayed the mental image seared into my retinas of his giant hands closing on either side of a man's head and squeezing his brains out.<p>

I'd seen some shit in my day but that took the cake. It was on the fast track to replace the memory of the first time he'd taken me hunting and used me as bait, when he'd been charged by some sort of reptilely four-legged thing bristling with spikes and spines and horns, its head a confusing mass of uneven teeth that seemed to grow haphazardly every which way out of its skull. Originally it had been charging _me_, to be honest, until Synsen had appeared to block its path while I stood frozen and staring in shock. He'd grunted as it slammed into him, knocked flat on his back with it on top of him. I'd had the fleeting realization that he was going to be the main course and I would be dessert before I saw that his hands had a secure hold on the two large horns that protruded from its lower jaw, giving him control over its snapping head. And the second it knocked him down he let go with his right hand, raising his feet and planting them on the thing's massive shoulders to hold its forelimbs at bay, retrieving the knife strapped to his right calf. With shocking speed he proceeded to stab it repeatedly right in the side of its neck, working feverishly and flinging blood everywhere. The thing didn't even have the opportunity to realize that it was no longer the attacker before it bellowed in agony and tried to withdraw, but found itself trapped. Synsen kept stabbing like a machine and it collapsed on top of him, its ugly head slapping down onto his chest as the blood gushed out of it. He stilled as it shuddered, moaned, tried to shift a foreleg back to rise, then slumped and exhaled more blood than air over him.

Synsen had shifted, lifting his shoulders enough to tilt his masked face backward and look at me upside-down from beneath it while it finished bathing him in its blood. I was still standing ten feet beyond him, rooted to the spot and absolutely positively certain that that was the freakiest, scariest shit I had ever seen in my life. It had dawned on me that I had mistaken the spiny reptile as the most unimaginably horrifying monster ever to exist the second I'd laid eyes on it, when in reality my captor and keeper had just unequivocally proven himself the hands-down holder of that title.

He'd issued an irritated growl as the horned minivan on top of him finally gave out and slumped the rest of its weight on him, then he'd shifted and kicked it off enough to pull himself loose, rising to his feet and giving himself a brisk full-body shake. Though I'd stared, I could not see a single wound on him and I doubted he'd even been bruised by the encounter.

So yeah, though that mental movie reel was still cued up and ready to roll at the slightest provocation, right now my subconscious was morbidly obsessed with seeing his hands squeeze a man's head like he was popping a pimple. Unable to stop myself, I wondered what kind of force was needed to do something like that, while the part of my brain that had already cracked and was starting the slow roll toward total breakdown kept repeating an admonition to me not to let Synsen put his hands on me, and most especially not on my head.

Despite his pissy mood he had provided me with smooth, softly worn hides that I spent a good half hour fashioning into top and bottom wraps secure enough to not loosen and fall off without warning. It required some minor ripping and creative knot-tying, a bit of boob wrestling, then a good bout of pacing, twisting and flexing to test. Finally satisfied that it was secure enough, I made a quick pass of the exit door and was surprised when it slid open at my proximity. Pissy had left the door unlocked. I wondered if that was intentional or an oversight, then decided I didn't care and took advantage of it.

Since we weren't on the clan ship it was safe enough for me to take a stroll. The others here, all grey-tressed and heavily spined elders, generally ignored my wandering the ship except for the occasional chuff or grunt aimed in my general direction. My invisible leash had been lengthened, and when Synsen didn't come looking for me I realized that I'd finally earned some respect and had been granted a bit more freedom to roam.

The ship was a technological wonder that was heavily decorated with religious icons and carvings, all centered around the hunt, of course. For yautja, hunting was a way of life and their entire culture revolved around it. Selective breeding that looked at strength and skill before considering brains or personality had honed them into powerful killing machines, a race of fearless and aggressive creatures with extraordinary endurance, a relentless drive to succeed and be better than all those who came before or would come after.

Once I'd initially settled in enough to start paying attention, I'd recognized a rigid, almost obsessive order to everything I laid eyes on. Everything was structured, placed and maintained with meticulous care, from armor and weapons to medical supplies and food. Even time was regimented; there was a time and place to eat, to sleep, to train, to worship and to practice. Individual yautja discipline and adherence to the rules was impressive, far surpassing even the most disciplined human military units I'd ever either worked in or heard of.

Here again taught me the advantage of being a yautja pet: I didn't get it, any of it, but I wasn't required or expected to. Synsen eventually found me when it was time to eat, brought me to the proper place, selected foods for me, and gestured for me to eat. Later, he found me and dragged me to the kehrite for either exercise or ass-kicking, which in my opinion were remarkably similar.

There was another here; this was the one room on the ship that was rarely empty. The transport ship had several rings for sparring and training in a single exercise room they called a kehrite, with an assortment of weapons to choose from and always at least one yautja either aggressively going through the motions of combat against an invisible enemy, or moving more slowly in an almost meditative dance of coordination and balance.

Today the role of that particular yautja was played by Milo. No idea what his name really was; I'd simply taken to calling him Milo. He clearly did not share the age and rank of the greys but I supposed he was an up-and-comer being groomed to one day join them. For now he served as their gopher, pilot, chief cook and bottle washer. To me, he stood out from the other younger hunters that had been on the clan ship in another way that was near and dear to me: he never threatened me or made me feel uncomfortable. I supposed that said something for his level of maturity and his self-control, and might have been linked to whatever it was the greys saw in him that made them honor him with his current position as their top lackey.

Synsen shoved me into a sparring circle, his delightful mood driving him to nudge sharply at me a few times, hard enough to push me back a few steps. I kept my head down sullenly; I didn't want to be here. Already I was wincing without being consciously aware of it, my entire body tense in nervous anticipation as I did my damndest to project to Synsen that I wasn't in the mood to play whack-the-ooman with him. He grunted and jabbed me in the shoulder, a challenge, while I wished I had super powers. The ability to become invisible would have been good right about now. Or to turn into something else...maybe a little flying bug. A ninja, that would have been good. I would love to hand his ass to him once and for all. Buttered and on a platter.

When he'd successfully poked and prodded me into his chosen sparring circle, he held up the thing he'd been holding in his opposite hand and my eyes widened involuntarily. The military-issue Ka-Bar knife he'd taken off me the other day, in its scabbard. This, I was suddenly made aware, was not going to be a good day. He tossed it to me underhand and I flinched and caught it two-handed on reflex, then tightened my fingers around it as I stared at him and stayed still.

Grunting, he motioned at me, and I saw that Milo, in the circle beyond, had stopped his choreographed movements with his spear and was watching. "Knife," Synsen rumbled, his amber gaze steady and glittering on me.

"Yep," I agreed meekly.

"Come," he said, gesturing toward himself. "Try."

I gawked. "I did that already. Remember?" I sure as hell did, and my thumb unconsciously rubbed the thumb rise at the base of the blade as I recalled the smooth gliding sensation of the knife I'd held that had penetrated his thick hide, skid its tip along bone, then slipped between his ribs. He hadn't made a sound, I remembered, then my eyes flicked to the deceptively small wound on his torso, a mere two-inch scar that didn't give away the fact that seven inches of carbon steel had pierced and impaled him.

"Ah-ghen," he growled, decidedly less of an invitation and more of an order.

"Welp," I sighed resignedly as I unclipped the sheath's guard and slid the knife free, "there goes my lunch." He grunted and clenched his fists, watching with avid anticipation as I settled the handle comfortably in my right hand and closed the sheath in my left. Deliberately playing stupid, I simply walked right up to him, knife held thumb-forward, and delivered an obvious uppercut.

He snatched the blade from my hand and shoved me down onto my ass with his other hand at the same time, his massive paw slamming into my breastbone. The move was so sudden and quick that it knocked the wind out of me, leaving me propped up with my hands behind me, staring up at Synsen and hoping that was the end of the demonstration while damned well knowing that hope was futile.

"Ah-ghen," he thundered, angrier now.

I huffed, then eased myself upright. "Goin' easy on you," I muttered, instinctively adopting a hunched posture as he loomed over me. He studied me a moment before holding out the knife handle-first, the blade laid flat in his big palm. I took it and worked out the stiffness in my neck, rolling my head shoulder-to-shoulder. Tension had knotted my spine and his rough shove had knocked something out of alignment in my upper back.

"Can do," he rumbled, glowering at me. "Did be-fore."

"But that was an accident," I protested meekly. He tossed his head and chuffed, his tresses slapping against his shoulder._ Ah shit_, I thought, cringing. _He's out to prove something here_.

Left with no other choice, I drew myself up straighter and let out a breath as he regarded me with ice-cold calculation. _Alrighty then_, I thought resolutely. _Let's get this over with_. Engaging, I shifted a foot back and sank into a crouch, then started a tentative circle. He stood tall and stared down at me, moving incrementally to remain facing me as I ran through scenarios and training in hand-to-knife combat, looking for an opening. There were plenty, as he stood there apparently unguarded and waiting for me to actually do something. I'd long since learned not to underestimate the sonuvabitch, though ultimately I had no choice but to act before he got bored of watching me circle and charged me.

I tried. I really did. Without fail Synsen would stand impassively waiting until I moved, then he would counter my attacks with rough precision, either disarming me and knocking me down as before, or twisting my weapon arm to not only take control of the knife but to turn it back on me. I switched to my weaker left hand after a few of those, my right shoulder, wrist and elbow screaming for mercy. Despite the fact that he wasn't crushing my head, he wasn't being entirely gentle, either.

There was sort of a method behind what I was doing, though, despite the effortless way he made me look clumsy. I knew he was becoming increasingly irritated at my apparent inability to change up my game in response to consecutive back-to-back failures. I'd debated the wisdom of actually throwing the knife at him but dismissed it as too risky. Not to him, to me. God forbid I actually stuck him with the thing. Instead, I systematically came at him with the blade extended in an attempt to slash and jab. When I realized I was coming to the end of my endurance I made my move, switching my hold on the Ka-Bar to lay the spine of the blade back along the inside of my forearm, coming around and abruptly punching out with a closed fist, elbow slightly bent as if intended as a follow-up to the initial punch when in reality I was going for a backslash, keeping the blade tucked and hidden.

I barked in pain as my attempted slash was intercepted when his hand wrapped around my left forearm – over the blade, mind you – and he torqued my arm from the shoulder, twisting me and sending me right to my knees. He froze, holding me like that, my arm right at a breaking point while I panted, then he abruptly let go, taking the knife with him. My arm dropped and I winced as I cradled it against my chest, staying on my knees.

"Did I win?" I panted, and heard his steady, baritone rumble from behind me in response. I turned my head and looked over my shoulder at him, seeing him studying his palm. Fluorescent green dripped down and tapped on the mat, and his bright amber eyes switched to me, then he widened his mandibles, lowered his jaw and growled.

"Up," he rumbled at me, and I got to my feet, still cradling my left arm. He stared me for a moment and I steeled myself and stood my ground as he stepped toward me and showed me his palm. The knife's sharp edge had sliced into his palm fairly deeply and his blood was flowing freely. "N'got, Pet," he grumbled. Startled, I looked up into his eyes and saw his quiet, calm regard. Leave it to a yautja to appreciate and admire a good hand laceration.

He lifted his other hand and held it palm-up, motioning with his fingers until I realized he wanted the knife's sheath. Easing my left arm down in pained increments and alarmed at the way it sort of hung there heavily, I lifted the leather sheath with my right hand, feeling like it weighed ten pounds from the aching in my limb. He took it and secured the Ka-Bar, then turned away and left the circle. He went to the nearby wall and retrieved a strip of hide from a shelf there, leaving the knife and binding his hand as he stalked back to me by briskly wrapping the long strip around it multiple times. That done, his eyes settled on me cradling my left arm and he rumbled quietly. When he came forward again I shied back a step then stood as he closed the distance between us.

"Be still, Pet," he said in a markedly gentle rumble, then reached for me with his terrifying hands. When his big hand wrapped around and squeezed my left shoulder I huffed in pain, then he slid behind me as he disengaged my right arm from offering support to the left.

"What are you doing?" I demanded nervously. My left shoulder hurt like hell, no thanks to him, and I wasn't comfortable with a yautja pressing me back against his front and manipulating my arm. He rumbled, bent it at the elbow, keeping my upper arm pressed close against my side with his opposite hand, then he eased my clenched fist in toward my belly. I went rigid with pain as he held it there then eased it outward off to my side, keeping my elbow bent at a ninety degree angle. When the pain increased to excruciating I kicked the mat and arched my body with a yelp, then heard and felt something click in my shoulder.

Instant relief. I panted hoarsely, still shivering, but the agony that had been was subsiding rapidly. I was able to take deeper, fuller breaths and I sucked them in greedily until I felt light-headed. Regrouping, I settled, painfully aware that Synsen still had me gathered against himself closely, his right forearm across my chest and clamped around my upper left arm to keep it tight to my side, his left hand still wrapped around my left forearm. I understood now that he'd dislocated my left shoulder and had handily demonstrated that he knew how to re-locate it, too.

Synsen was a furnace, and where my bare skin touched his I could feel myself sticking to him with my sweat. His hide was considerably rougher than mine, and there was something unnervingly intimate about the way he was coiled around me and pressing himself close. My brain had gone from screaming 'Oh god it hurts!' to 'Oh god get him off me!' while I stood frozen and feeling increasingly trapped and unnerved. This was way too similar to his near crushing bear-hug on Navassa Island, and the longer he remained holding onto me the more my panic was rising. His breathing was steady and slow, his heartbeat a curious, alien rhythm drumming against my back.

"N'got, Pet," he rumbled again, and I felt a flood of hot breath on the top and back of my head that stiffened me further. His hold was just shy of restraining but gradually easing with each passing second. Struggling loose wasn't a possibility and I knew it, as well as the fact that the instant I thought to try he would clamp down tighter on me. My strength was woefully inadequate when it came to yautja-wrestling.

He shifted behind me and huffed quietly over me, bathing me in his exhalations as he delicately sniffed at my hair. "Heat come soon, Pet. Synsen fix, too," he purred, his rough baritone backed by a smoothly rolling rumble, delivered in a surprisingly intimate _sotto voce_ way that gave it more meaningful impact. My wide eyes stared unseeing at the far wall as I processed his statement. The _heat_ he was referring to had nothing to do with temperature, and I was more than a little concerned at the prospect of him 'fixing' my monthly cycle. _Just how in hell does he plan to do that?_ I thought nervously, wondering if he was implying the yautja version of a trip to the vet's office and a little snippy-snippy, followed by me walking around wearing a cone around my head for two weeks. No matter what he was hinting at, one thing I was sure of: that it wouldn't bode well for me.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own the concept of Predator(s) and I'm not making any money off of this. Please note it's a Mature rated story for good reason...one of my main characters curses like a sailor and the other is trying to decide if he wants to hump her. Oh, and one of them is _not_ human. 'Nuff said.

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><p>Synsen was just starting to ease back and release me when of all things, Milo came to my rescue. I flicked my eyes sideways as he grunted and clicked, motioning in our general direction. Synsen grunted back, a raggedy, gritty sound as he unlooped his massive arms and let me go to walk off and join Milo in his circle. Milo turned in place to keep his eyes on Synsen as my captor circled him, then deftly slipped aside when Synsen lunged. They swapped positions, barely completed a half circle, then simultaneously charged each other.<p>

As I wondered if Milo's motivation had been to rescue me or to score Synsen's attention for himself they were grappling, not outright clawing or kicking, turning in circles as both struggled to keep balanced while trying to throw the other. Milo was usually Otis' sidekick, a grizzled old yautja with prominently jutting lower mandibles who vaguely resembled a bulldog. Why Milo was here, playing patty-cake with Synsen instead of following Otis around was anyone's guess, but I was thankful for the timely diversion. Who the hell knew what Synsen's intention with me had been?

With a sudden, truncated snarl, Synsen gained the upper hand, caught hold of Milo and dug his claws in, then tossed him from the circle, right into mine. Still protectively cradling my left arm in my right, I sidestepped at the last second to avoid three hundred pounds of bone and muscle as it launched in my direction, then watched Milo strike the mat on his side and immediately jump back to his feet. Synsen was snarling something, rapid fire yautja punctuated by sharp clicks and sibilant hisses, then he pointed at me and I went automatically rigid. Milo glanced at me, then back at Synsen, and I was surprised to see him lower his head.

_Oh great, thanks buddy_, I thought, perceiving that Milo had only succeeded in pissing Synsen off even more than he already had been when we'd entered the kehrite. He chattered back, keeping his head lowered, and I sensed not only submission but apology. Rumbling like an approaching freight train riding rickety tracks, Synsen stomped closer to stand facing my side, and I nervously lifted my head as he gently brushed the knuckles of his closed bleeding fist under my chin. Blinking rapidly, I shot a quick glance to Synsen's eyes, unsure of the gesture and what it meant, especially considering the return of his former mood. The closest thing to affection from Synsen was a light touch on the scar on my cheek, something I'd come to associate more with pleased and self-satisfied possession rather than any outright affection for me. I saw he was waiting for my eyes, his gaze steady, and when I finally met his stare he lifted his chin slightly, shifting his mandibles and sending me a short purr. I blinked.

Milo shuffled sideways a bit and Synsen redirected his attention to bark at him. More staccato and angry-sounding words and sounds from Synsen, then Milo shuffled to more squarely face me, crossed his fist over his chest, and bowed low from his waist.

"My apologize," Milo said, his voice garbled but his ability to form understandable english words much better than my captor's. He waited, holding the bow, keeping his eyes on the mat. Mystified, I looked up at Synsen and saw he was watching me. Apparently the apology was for me.

"S'okay," I mumbled, unsure of what I was accepting the apology for. Interrupting Synsen's bizarre sustained bearhug and threat to spay me? Or for almost crashing into me when Synsen tossed him from the next sparring circle over? No clue.

Milo straightened slowly, meeting my eyes. He nodded to me, then looked at Synsen and gave him a nod. Synsen growled something, his tone subdued, and Milo turned away and headed off. I watched him go until I was aware of Synsen staring at me expectantly.

"Not tell Synsen ah-bout other oomans," he rumbled, and I furrowed my brows, trying to follow along. "Chi'kal-de." I rummaged through my limited mental inventory of known yautja words but came up blank on that one. "Not tell Synsen other camp. Synsen and Pet cap-chore."

And just like that, I got it. Granted, I would never be considered one of earth's greatest intellectual minds, but I wasn't stupid. And being Synsen's captive as long as I had had made me a pro at connecting the dots. Milo, it seemed, had prior knowledge of the facility that had captured Synsen, and for some reason hadn't warned him about it. My eyes flicked over to see Milo removing two heavy sparring staffs from their holders on the weapons wall, then turning to carry them back.

I wondered if his failure to communicate this information had been intentional and meant to result in Synsen's capture, but having come from a military background I knew there was often a fine line between classifying information as NTK or TMI: Need To Know, or Too Much Information. Apparently Milo fucked up when he'd decided that the second facility classified as TMI, since I had to think Synsen would have made short work of him if he suspected otherwise.

"Ass," I murmured under my breath. Milo was still being careful to keep his eyes lowered and his posture slightly hunched to communicate his position as a sorry sonuvabitch.

"Sit," Synsen said, and when I looked at him he was pointing off to the side where there were yautja-sized benches. Milo, properly chastised, was respectfully waiting just outside the sparring circle with the poles over his shoulder, staring at the mat while the ten ragged gouges in his hide from Synsen's claws oozed and trickled blood. _Oh goody_, I thought. I wasn't going to get my ass handed to me; _he_ was. I nodded to Synsen and went toward the benches without protest to cradle my injured arm, though what I wanted to do was take a hot bath. Preferably alone cuz my head was spinning.

I mulled it over as Milo waited for Synsen to examine both staffs and choose which he wanted, wondering about what had _seemed_ like an affectionate gesture from Synsen thinly veiled under the guise of providing assistance, his comment about _fixing_ me, and whether my situation had just gone from bad to better or bad to worse. I knew for damned sure that _affectionate_ was yet another word that decisively did _not_ describe yautja. I'd seen him bumping uglies with one of his lady-friends and my eyes and ears did not detect anything that might remotely approach affection exchanged between them, only a lot of grappling and grunting and growling just this side of disturbing.

_So what, then?_ my brain demanded of me, then instantly clicked over to recall him playing back for me our exchange, the 'fuck you' from me and the 'I would like to' from him. _Oh yike_s_...is he...is he _hitting_ on me now? Working his mojo?_

There was a sharp crack that made me jump in my seat; Synsen and Milo were going at it full-bore with the staffs. Two more followed in swift succession as Milo blocked Synsen's swings, but the fourth one connected with a smart snap against his ribs and sent him reeling. I stared, blinking, watching Milo regroup in time to block a follow-up, made aware anew of Synsen's sheer speed and savagery. Unlike his sparring with me, Synsen wasn't just standing around and waiting for Milo's first move; he was actively and systematically beating the living crap out of Milo. Offering no reprieve even after a landed blow, pursuing him as the other yautja tried to gain enough distance for a breather so he could collect himself. Synsen was all form and technique, seeming to loom larger with every landed strike, twirling the staff, passing it hand-to-hand to change it up, leaving Milo reeling and unable to predict where the next blow would come from.

Milo was a sport, I'll give him that. He also took a whack or a punch a helluvalot better than I could. He was probably blocking better than ninety five percent of what came his way, but the five percent he missed were definitely starting to add up and wear on him. As for Synsen, if his sliced palm was bothering him he wasn't letting on at all. It was definitely still bleeding pretty good, and had already soaked through the makeshift bandage enough to smear along the staff and fling droplets everywhere, trailing down the inside of his forearm. Somewhere in that thick skull of his it had to be computing, unless yautja were impervious to pain. It was entirely possible, I supposed, since – come to think of it – I had yet to see him show any reaction to damage prior to his fixing it.

_Nah_, my mind insisted, going back to my former train of thought of debating if Synsen was coming on to me. No way; it was just too horrifying a thing to contemplate. I mean sure, I expected to die at any minute here but my mind had never pictured going out quite _that_ way. Raped to death by a yautja. Even better, one that I was _stupid_ enough to rescue from my own kind. Synsen sort of came off like some nightmarish offspring of rhino, gorilla, brahma bull and crocodile, some sort of horrific hellbeast as smart as it was powerful. I might be suffering the longest sexual dry spell I'd had since losing my virginity, but I wasn't so hard up that I'd be willing to bend over for _him_. Holy yikes. All I needed to add to my current list of woes would be three-inch spikes dug into my back in the course of being impaled and gutted by a monstrous, flexible schlong.

Milo staggered as he caught Synsen's next swing upside the head, keeping his balance and hastily shuffling back with a low growl. He was, far as I could tell, starting to get really pissed off now. Synsen rattled at him and pursued, changing his grip and going for a jab. Milo whirled away, coming back around at speed with his staff held low. I winced as it took Synsen behind the knees and he went down onto them, but he followed up with a backwards samurai thrust, the staff held between his flank and upper left arm. Milo, standing right behind him and in the process of raising his staff two-handed, grunted as he took it in the belly button and doubled over.

From there the battle descended further, the aggression and savagery accelerating as Synsen stepped back up to his feet, turned around and brought his staff down across Milo's back. Starting out it had seemed like a sparring match, but now it was progressing into a low-down-and-dirty pissing contest. Milo barked and went down to the mat but lithely rolled away, then regained his feet and charged. If there were bouts or rules to this thing I sure as hell couldn't recognize them. Gingerly shifting my shoulder to flex it and test my mobility, I rose from the bench as the two of them started to really go at it, both still instinctively staying inside the large circle described on the mat but moving the hell all over it. They were wielding the staffs like lightsabers now, going at it like Jedi knights, a swordfight with slashes and parries conducted so quickly my head was spinning. The large metal room resounded with the cracking of their staffs connecting in rapid-fire swings and blocks, both grunting rhythmically and neither making any obvious attempt to hold back.

They locked up and Synsen punched Milo dead in the mandibles, sending him reeling back with a startled bark. Pursuing relentlessly, Synsen seemed to forget about the staff and kicked him in the guts, the sound of the strike a dull, meaty thud that was accompanied by an explosion of air and green blood from Milo's mouth. Synsen tossed his staff, snatched Milo's from his hands and proceeded to chop at him rapidly as Milo reeled. One final punch, this one an upper cut from his damaged left hand, and Milo flopped gracelessly backward, hit the mat, and stayed there.

With apparent effort, Synsen held himself back from doing more damage, instead tossing the staff from the circle and standing over Milo with his fists clenched, the right dripping a steady stream. He growled as Milo groaned and stayed down, then he chuffed. "Pet good fighter than you," he growled, glaring at his downed opponent. I begged to differ but kept my mouth shut; Milo had held up more than respectably but Synsen was simply too brutal. He seemed to have more moves in his repertoire and an ability to rapidly change things up too quickly for Milo to compensate and keep up. Like I said before, the older ones tended to kick the crap out of the younger with relative ease. It made me wonder if Otis could smash Synsen's mandibles in for him and teach him some manners. I had to suppose he was probably one of the very few who actually could. Possibly he would, after he got a load of what Synsen had done to his sidekick. Hm...maybe something to look forward to. There was always the possibility that Synsen being on the receiving end of a good pounding would mean he would leave me alone for awhile. With any luck I would get to watch it happen, too.

Leaving Milo laying there, Synsen turned from him and stalked back to me. His bearing was amplified from the altercation, his massive body held in more tension than before, his hide subtly more vibrant, his eyes glittering with increased ambiance and vitality. Like he was stoked up from the fight and still riding the high. Great. Just my luck to be the recipient of his full attention now.

"Um...shouldn't you help him?" I asked timidly as he came to a halt in front of me and stared down at me. His upper right mandible twitched, but other than that he didn't react to my question. When I let go of supporting my aching left arm and motioned with my right hand past him at Milo, now making his way to his feet, Synsen chuffed derisively.

"Will heal," he rumbled. "Needs clean."

"Clean? Clean what?" I asked, thrown off by his response. In answer, Synsen lifted his right fist and squeezed, making the blood pour from his palm and splatter onto the floor near me.

"Clean," he repeated, his tone a low growl. Behind him, Milo was picking up one of the sparring staffs before making his way toward the other, then stooping to gather it up. I didn't know if this was Synsen's way of adding insult to injury or just an expectation, despite the beating, that Milo would maintain his usual duties.

When he tersely gestured toward one of the exits I shied away in reaction, not trusting his mood, then gathered myself and headed there. Synsen had, in my opinion, an extraordinary talent for exhausting me. Oftentimes enough, merely spending time in his presence was enough to do it, though my tolerance for his company was steadily increasing over time. As ninety nine percent of the time I had no idea what the hell was going on at any given moment, it didn't take much when he focused his attention on me before I found myself in desperate need for some downtime.

Now, add to it the anger I had boiling inside for getting myself good and caught again when I should have focused instead on saving my own skin, the nagging unease I carried around thanks to his insistence on making sure I was aware that he hadn't been kidding with his comeback to my intended insult, the worry that the next time he came up behind me he might squish my head, and the question about what, exactly, he was plotting for the next time I 'went into heat', I was understandably drained. That didn't account for just having watched him open a forty ounce can of whoop-ass on Milo and my subconscious debate about what I wanted to do to his stupid cry-baby bitch of a mask, either.

What I needed was a plan, I decided. I needed some time to work out a list of priorities, then to lay out a step-by-step plan of action. If he would leave me the hell alone for awhile and stop delighting himself with traumatizing me every minute of the day I could maybe do that.

_Step number one_, the stupidest part of me piped up, _is escape_. The minute I thought that I snorted out loud, and Synsen, walking beside me, grunted like a belch and looked down at me, tresses flaring. Since we weren't on the clan ship I was off-leash, so to speak, and didn't have to deal with the heat and weight of his giant hand clamped around the back of my neck.

"Sorry," I muttered. "Just thought of something really ridiculously stupid. Even for me."

He grumbled, a steady baritone vibration of his vocal chords that for all I knew was a barrage of words or possibly even helpful friendly advice. Escape, as I well knew, was impossible. Unless he planned on teaching me how to fly, gave me directions and handed me the keys so I could crash-land his ride.

"You gonna kill me?" I blurted, picking up the pace a bit as I started to fall behind. His long legs, even at a leisurely walk, forced me to have to double-time it to keep up with him. Synsen rumbled evenly again and glanced down at me from the corner of his eye as I boldly looked up at him and waited for an answer.

"Not to-day, Pet," he growled, then smoothly cut me off as he turned toward the entrance to his quarters. His response threw me and I hesitated before following him in.

"But you're planning on it, right?" I wanted to know, asking his broad back as I paused just inside the main room. He chuffed in reply without turning, a sound I interpreted as mocking amusement, continuing on to his table-desk-console thingie and tapping deftly at the illuminated holographic buttons that appeared in mid-air over it. "Well, are you going to let me go, then?" I pressed.

"Not to-day, Pet," he rumbled again in a way that made me think he wasn't even listening to me anymore, just repeating what he'd said before. Data scrolled, projected over the console. I scowled and glared at him, feeling like an annoying four-year-old pestering daddy when he was trying to work. Only an instinctive sense of self-preservation kept me from stamping my foot and yelling 'Hel-_lo_!' at him to get his attention. You'd think I was begging him for a pony for the hundredth time, based on his complete and total lack of interest in responding to my questions regarding my eventual fate.

Typical male, incapable of having anything approaching a serious conversation. Oh, but bring up neutering and he's all about it, no doubt a goddamned expert. "So...what, then? Tomorrow maybe? Pencil me in sometime between your eight AM soak and my eleven AM ass-beating?" I suggested.

Little secret I'd figured out pretty quickly after my capture: Synsen understood only a little of what I said, more if I kept it simple, less if I used slang and sarcasm. Once I'd realized that I started taking full advantage of it, and though I knew that one of these days my daring was going to bite me in the ass - probably painfully – for now it was a passive-aggressive way for me to blow off some steam. Sometimes I was made aware that he was on to me, like his reaction to my earlier snap about him being a Rhodes scholar, but a quick assurance that I wasn't insulting him had so far gotten me off the hook.

For now, Synsen completely ignored me and continued scrolling through whatever was being displayed, a confusing jumble of yautja symbols. Sometimes I got the feeling that I exhausted him about as much as he exhausted me and that gave me a suicidal but vindictive little thrill.

* * *

><p>Synsen rumbled softly as he read the incoming transmissions he'd received while exercising his pet and disciplining Chi'kal-de. <em>Interesting...<em> Finally a response from the records-keepers on the clan ship, in answer to his request for the complete records his clan had compiled regarding ooman females. He'd already downloaded the public ones but there were more, available only upon request. Records of those who had taken ooman pets and had known them as males know females. The data had been acquired during a historical time when such a thing was more common, and gleaned from the personal records of others who had kept such things private until their deaths. As an Arbitrator, Synsen had the clearance to access most sealed records, but these, he was unsurprised to discover, had been refused him.

What was interesting, however, were the two messages that followed. One had been sent from a private device, not through official channels. It delicately suggested, now that the breeding season was over and Synsen would resume his Arbitrator duties, that perhaps he would be interested in making temporary arrangements for the exchange of his pet until the next breeding season, assuring him that she would be adequately housed and cared for. Upon his return to the clan ship for the next breeding season she would be handed back over for him to continue using as a lure.

_A mutually convenient agreement_, it enticed, promising that his pet would be carefully kept in peak condition though he should expect that she would be used in payment for her care. When Synsen dove a little deeper into the sending address, he was unsurprised to find it had been carefully re-routed and screened to ensure anonymity for the sender. It was possible that he could break the encryption if he applied himself diligently enough, but he suspected already that the sender was probably the very records-keeper who had denied his request for the sealed files.

_Clearly, this records-keeper has read the records he has declined to share, and was enticed by whatever he'd learned_, Synsen thought, annoyed.

He pictured an unusually small and scrawny yautja, the typical type that turned toward intellectual pursuits instead of hunting, due to a physical inability to compete. No doubt unsuccessful at attracting the eye of any yautja female and tempted by the opportunity of another outlet. Synsen trilled quietly in amusement as he imagined that the records-keeper probably thought his pet was a docile and meek alien female, already well broken in and trained to submit to the advances and expectations of a male.

The request was bold but possibly sensible, and it bore consideration. Removing his pet from his presence would remove the temptation of possibly soiling himself and his reputation. If he took her with him there would be no separating himself from her when her scent sweetened to full ripeness, perfuming his every indrawn breath and saturating his senses, singing in his blood and pulling relentlessly at his baser instincts. No eta to serve as a buffer so he could keep his distance, unless he planned on purchasing a servant and providing for it as well.

He needed time to think on it, growling quietly as his mind pulled at him from multiple directions, still filled with objections while at the same time loathe to relinquish custody of her. He was not accustomed to owing debts of favor to others, especially not to lower life forms, but he couldn't deny the fact that his pet had freed him from confinement and assisted in his escape. He had taken possession of her and marked her as his own, but he had a certain sense of being owned by her as well after she'd killed her own kind to regain him from them. The part of him that said she was an inferior being chafed, but the male in him preened in pride that a female would risk her life for him. She wanted _him_, it insisted. She had staked her claim and made her decision. Perhaps this was the way ooman females behaved, aggressively protecting mating partners, even potential ones, as fiercely as they would defend their own pups.

The next message was an official one, from a senior member of the clan's research division, requesting that he turn his pet over to them. The delicate wording of the message made it clear that the suggestion was only in deference to his rank and title, and that otherwise it would be a direct order. It went on to say that the research division was currently housing five ooman males, all warriors, and that perhaps his pet would prefer their company in hopes that she would mate and produce offspring. Any young she produced would be hand-tamed by the keepers and therefore less feral, allowing them to have laboratory subjects for samples and further study.

Ignoring his pet's incessant chattering behind him, he decided that this request also bore serious consideration. Certainly, as a rare warrior female, she was considered a prime specimen of her kind, ideal for whelping strong, healthy pups. If his clan were to establish a breeding population of oomans for research and study it would give them an advantage in hunting them.

He chuffed and unwrapped the makeshift _thwei-_soaked bandage from around his hand, passing a glance over at his pet. She had subsided back into a steady, brooding stare at his mask and he had the sense that if he was somehow able to read her thoughts he wouldn't like them.

"Pet," he rumbled, and she switched her attention to boldly stare directly into his eyes. "Bath."

Her forehead bunched and wrinkled, the small tufts of fur over her eyes drawing closer together as her posture stiffened. _Perhaps she would be too much for a mere scholar to handle_, he supposed, thrumming low in amusement. She had, to her credit, caught him off-guard with the knife. Drawn him in, her seemingly idle attacks gradually lowering his guard until she changed her grip on the blade and caused him to react without having respected her enough to pay proper attention. He'd paid the price for his inattention and she'd proven, once again, that she was a warrior and he was foolish to underestimate her for a second.

She turned away as he moved to discard the soaked bandage, going through the door into his wash room. He treated his wound, still mulling, still thinking of the moment he'd grabbed and restrained her arm, twisting it instinctively and sending her to her knees, her back bowed, unable to help but compare the posture and position to the restraining hold he used on yautja females when mating them. And then after, when she'd submitted to his touch and allowed him to handle her. His intention had been to simply return her dislocated shoulder joint into its socket, but her compliance had immediately put him in mind of other things and made him wonder at what point it would end.

_Would she attempt to struggle? _he wondered, chirring softly in thought, barely aware of the stinging in his palm, a reaction to the healing salve he was carefully dribbling into the deep cut. It hissed, changing color as it disinfected and absorbed the blood, its consistency altering immediately upon contact with the air. The wound twinged as the salve drew its edges together and formed a protective barrier over it, a spongy, flexible bandage.

_Or would she have remained docile?_ his thoughts continued. He had bred three untried females this mating season, and while one was pleasingly aggressive and seemingly determined to prove herself and her mettle to the Arbitrator she'd chosen, the other two had been more timid, cowed by his rank and reputation. Those had been easily subdued and he had taken advantage of their inexperience by taking his time, using the opportunity to fully immerse himself in the physical pleasure of mating. The one, he had even dared to breed twice, as immediately after inseminating her a potential rival had interrupted them. Synsen had barked him off threateningly, still locked inside the restrained female. She had remained compliant, not demanding he uncouple, and when the other male retreated he took his surge of temper and adrenaline out on her, determined to fully experience that momentary bliss that had been so rudely interrupted and snatched from him.

Such was a definite benefit of achieving a high rank; the females tended to avoid the younger yautja for their first season, preferring the experience of the older males. The experienced females further from their first heat were capable of rejecting a male even midway through the mating if something more promising caught their eye.

Synsen's first mating opportunity, similar for many unseasoned males, had ended in failure. He'd mounted and penetrated successfully but failed to get a proper hold on the female, then didn't hurry to finish. He'd been too busy exulting in his success and reveling in sensation, failing to pay proper attention and respect to the object of his ardor. When a higher-ranked male entered the bathing facility where they were rutting and deliberately moved into her line of sight, she'd thrown Synsen off with a hiss and went to the other male. He was left aching, still painfully aroused and unsatisfied as he watched the more mature and experienced male successfully subdue and restrain her, then mount her to go about breeding her with brisk no-nonsense efficiency. Had Synsen properly restrained her, had he not been caught up in sensation and triumph...lesson learned.

He'd stayed to watch the mating in order to learn from the older male's experience. Yautja were not modest or shy about anything so there was no breach of etiquette or objection from the breeding pair. The female accepted the male and he'd removed his loincloth, his penis swelling quickly as she seemed to change her mind and shoved at his shoulder in challenge, testing him. He'd caught her arm and swept her feet out from under her then rode her to the floor, moving quickly to pull her elbows behind her, then get her to her knees. She struggled but it wasn't in rejection or refusal, more an instinctive need to test his strength and ability. Still restraining her he'd crouched behind her and penetrated her quickly, his job made easier by the fact that just a moment ago Synsen had been mounted and pumping. She was growling, trying to get her arms loose, attempting to raise herself, but the male held tight, his left arm hooked behind her elbows, holding them back and up to force her head and shoulders down, his right hand at her hip as he pumped furiously at her. Thus subdued, she continued to growl as he grunted and rutted, wasting no time in the effort to work himself up to his reward. His success was announced with a throaty bellow and an arched back, his hips jerking as he trembled and pumped his seed into her body. And immediately after, he released her and shoved her forward off his organ, rising and stepping back in time to miss the sweep of her claws as she spun around and slashed at him. He backed off and gave her room and she rose, glared at him, then at Synsen, and left the bathing facility. The older male, sex organ still flexing rhythmically in the aftermath, had scooped up his dropped loincloth, nodded to Synsen, then continued on his way to a bathing pool, probably where he'd been intending to go when he'd happened to come across them.

It had been a humbling experience but he'd learned his lesson well. Seize every opportunity to breed, and don't waste time about it. The time, the place, none of it mattered. He'd mated in the corridors, in the dining hall, in private quarters. Against floors and walls, on tables, against the side of a ship in the docking bay, on the padded floor of the kehrite. The floor was his personal favorite, since he preferred to use the trick he'd seen the older warrior use so many centuries ago: the leg sweep. Knock them off-balance and brace them against the floor to minimize the risk of them damaging you or getting loose. Force them to a pin and assert yourself so quickly they didn't have time to change their minds, to object, to spot a better opportunity. Purr ardently to soothe and mollify. Let the steady rumbling of their growling resound as you thrust into them with authority, putting them on notice that you are strong, you are capable, that they were submitting to a worthy male who respected them enough to perform a solid restraint without leaving a mark or hurting them, then hurried about the mating so as not to waste their time.

Synsen put the healing salve away, then uncoupled his biohelm from the console and locked it in his personal armory, uneasy about his pet's interest in it. Perhaps he had done himself a disservice by separating himself from his pet during her heat cycles. He suspected that she wasn't an unseasoned female; surely she recognized him as a worthy male in prime condition? Perhaps she would come to him, seek him out for relief as a yautja female uses a male.

Growling steadily in tense aggravation, he retrieved a flask of alcohol from a cabinet and applied himself to drinking as he reread the messages he'd received. The honorable thing to do would be to kill her quickly and be done with it; clearly the enticement to act on his urges was too great for him to resist much longer. Logically he was resisting taking the opportunity, wrapped up in thoughts of repercussions, but physically he was chafing to experience it.

He tried to subside, to steel his will and apply himself to mulling over his options. Passing temporary possession of his pet over to the scholar would mean that he would have further opportunity with her. It would give him time and distance to think on the matter and make a decision to pursue or not, while quelling the rumors he was sure were being whispered behind his back regarding the nature of his relationship with his pet. Giving her to the sciences and research division would be for the betterment of his clan, and would greatly increase their knowledge and understanding of her species. That decision, he knew, would be more final than trading her with the scholar, since he would not have any further access to his pet.

A chirp alerted him to an incoming message and he switched screens to view it, then stilled. Another from the data archives division. This one now told him that his request had been reviewed and accepted, and the data was ready to be downloaded. He did so, immediately, before they changed their minds again.

He skimmed rapidly, idly flexing his cut hand and continuing to drink the c'ntlip. There were the personal accounts of several outcasts and badBloods but Synsen paused when he came across data attributed to an Arbitrator. Unknown to him of course, and long past. He throbbed unaware; intellectual pursuits were not his preference and he avoided reading dry personal journals wherever possible, but this..._this_. He skipped ahead, scrolling with disinterest through the accounts of the dishonorable the Arbitrator had hunted and purged, seeking instead the reason this record had been sealed.

The account of the Arbitrator's ooman female came toward the end of his file. She had been unarmed and held by the badBlood he'd been hunting, roughly used, and she had assisted the Arbitrator in killing the badBlood. He'd taken her in order to adhere to the code that forbade sentient witnesses to his kind's existence but hesitated at outright killing her, unable to do so. She had proven herself honorable, leaving him uncertain of what to do with her. She healed; the badBlood had taken her for one thing and one thing only, and had been rough with her while gradually starving her. He had known he was being hunted and that his time was short; in response he'd chosen to avail himself of whatever pleasures he could find before meeting the gods.

The Arbitrator recounted his horror when his female captive entered her heat in his presence for the first time, clearly disturbed by the impulses he experienced. He resisted for several cycles and the female seemed to understand what was happening and avoided him out of respect. Apparently he started getting sloppy in the field, distracted enough to sustain damage in what he felt were inexcusable lapses. When it came to what he felt was a matter of life or death for him and he began to prepare himself for the act of honorably killing her, the female seemed to sense that. She had healed by then, regained her strength, and trusted his honorable nobility in ways she had not trusted the yautja who had initially taken her. She, he recorded, made her wishes clear to him, aggressively pursuing him as a female pursues a male, inciting his mating urges and making herself available to him. He resisted for a time, recounting the same thoughts, objections and uncertainty that Synsen was now experiencing, though admittedly more intensely. He did not have the option to turn his female over to his clan and he was far from the mothership. No eta to bring her food while he confined her, no available yautja females in the grips of their own mating urges for him to act upon. His only option was to kill her but his honor would not permit it, not for the expedience of simply ridding himself of a temptation he felt himself incapable of resisting. His weakness, he logged, was not adequate reason to justify the death of a creature who had already been victimized and dishonored by his kind.

Synsen rumbled, feeling subdued and chastised. This Arbitrator had been wise and was obviously well acquainted with the Hunter's Code and the proper path, and his recorded thoughts reached down through the ages to remind him that an honor killing was not something to be taken lightly. Though he had come by his ooman female in an entirely different manner it was clear that her honorable actions had caused him to hold her in high regard. He did not blame her for what came natural to her, only himself for what he perceived to be his own weakness. And when she indicated to him that she was willing to be the recipient of his biological urges and he finally reached such a place that his resistance and excuses carried less weight, the tone of his chronicles changed again.

His focus had sharpened and intensified. He recorded a sense of peace and repleteness. Eventually he lost the urge to journey back to the clan ship in order to couple with the females during the breeding season, finding the posturing and challenges to be a waste of his time. Legendary success was accorded to him, thanks to his ability to roam farther for longer from the clan. At times his entries were philosophically fatalistic though noticeably never regretful. He had made his decision and it had brought him great apparent peace. Able to fend for himself - as required of any Blooded yautja, particularly an Arbitrator - and with his mating urges satisfied, he'd kept his distance from others of his own kind except when he was in the process of hunting and killing them. The female understood that she could never return to her homeworld and seemed to find contentment as well. For her kind, he learned, mating created a pairbond and was thought of with much greater reverence than it was for yautja.

The Arbitrator had recorded his observations, anticipating that after his death his personal logs would be reviewed. He was of the opinion that yautja of his rank should not only be allowed but encouraged to find compatible ooman companionship, that loosening that restriction would give the Arbitrator class far greater flexibility and freedom to pursue the clan's badBloods.

_Ooman females are weak and harmless_, Synsen read, and chuffed as he thought: _Provided they're unarmed_. His humor faded as he skimmed the next entries though: _...compatible body type...willingly mate out of season...take great pleasure in breeding...crave and seem to require physical contact...seemingly insatiable...allow a male to initiate..._

He let out a quiet breath and thought it over, finally enlightened as to the benefits of an ooman female versus yautja. In his mind the scales tipped their balance yet again, changing anew the order and weight of the pros and cons he was subconsciously evaluating. His opportunity to rightfully kill the female had passed, he was now thinking, and each day he allowed his pet to continue living only further minimized his right. He needed to make a decision, _now_. To turn her in and allow her to be with males of her own kind, to trade her temporarily, to keep her to himself or to end her. He rumbled, wondering which she would prefer as he finished the c'ntlip, the Arbitrator's listed reasons for prefering his pet's company to that of yautja females echoing in his head.


	7. Chapter 7

Still taking a break from Chosen. Have the next chapter pretty much written but there's something off about it and I can't bring myself to concentrate on it. I'll get there, just not today.

In the meantime I've been working on Pets on and off, and this chapter is a long one...consider it a formality before we get into the meat 'n taters of the relationship Synsen wants with his Pet.

Don't own the concept of Predator(s) and this story is rated Mature for excessive language (cussin') and high potential for naughtiness (sexin').

* * *

><p>I had finally, successfully, completed my priority list when Synsen appeared. Number one was admittedly complex right off the bat: avoid head squishing, spaying and death in general. Number two: kill the mask. Number three: get the fuck home.<p>

Okay, I admit it; the list was tentative and needed some minor kinks worked out. Plus I still hadn't worked out any actual actionable steps to achieve my goals, sort of like the old South Park episode with the underpants gnomes. Step 1: Collect underpants...Step 3: Profit. Ask them what step two is and they get all confused because none of them had figured it out yet. Yep, that about summed it up for me as well.

The plain fact of the matter was that all the things I'd decided were number one on my priority list involved me being able to either physically separate myself from Synsen permanently, or being capable of physically fighting him off. Soldiers are good at calculating odds, and I knew mine were, conservatively, less than good. Possibly even pathetically horrendous.

_Would spaying really be that bad a thing?_ I wondered, prepared to cut deals with myself and make concessions. Wasn't like I'd ever planned on being a mom; I was notoriously bad at caretaking even _plants_, and the reason I kept fish as pets was because they didn't annoy me and could go without food for a few days. As long as a week, it so happened.

So okay, I modified my priorities to remove the prohibition again spaying, but head-squishing and death in general were still out. And right about then I realized that Synsen was still standing in the doorway to the bathing room or whatever the hell it was called. _Staring_ at me. I restrained myself from checking behind me to see if hopefully he was directing that molten stare at someone else, knowing damn well that I was the only one in the bathing room.

Being that he was either a pervert or deliberately trying to make me uncomfortable, he was nude..._again_. Sucker was built like a brick shithouse, I'll give him that. And there was enough familiar going on with his physique from the neck down that it wasn't off-putting or disturbing to look at. Far from it, if muscles were your thing. For me, he was a taller and sleeker version of a former fellow soldier named Nubby. Nubby was stockier in build, the kind of guy who didn't have a neck to turn so he twisted from the waist instead, and who was incapable of pressing his own arms against his flanks because his lats were like wings. It was a necessity in his line of work, the heavy gunner for a mobile squad. He could carry and shoot a thirty three pound fifty caliber rifle all day long. Granted, it was on a pneumatic arm and strapped to his waist which offset some of the weight and recoil, but I sure as hell couldn't do what he did.

So, Nubby with another foot and a half of height, making Synsen much less blocky looking in build. He had no nipples, I suddenly realized, squinting. Oddly enough, that didn't make him look weird...or _weirder_, I should say. His pecs were massive couch pillows etched with the scratch-like scars of healed wounds. On top of the darkly drab but bold coloration of his skin, there was a lot of texture going on. A symmetrical bumpy roughness on his shoulders, on the outsides of his arms and legs and smattering more lightly along his inner calves, reminiscent of a young alligator's back. I knew that that texture spread along his back, sort of like his skin was more thick and dense in those places. His chest and abdomen were relatively smooth, the texture much finer to create a pebbling effect on his skin.

Funny...the muscle patterning on his belly sort of echoed the bumps and symmetry of his crest...minus the healing divots from the bullet holes. And lower there were no dangly bits like on a man. He looked like all muscle there too, everything tighter and far less...comical. It wasn't like he wasn't obviously male but his anatomy was sort of tucked in, no doubt better protected from something like a kick to the jewels. I knew, though, that with the right motivation - for instance an eight foot broad with horrendous PMS and a lot of teeth - the look of things could change drastically, becoming a lot less comical and a lot more intimidating. For now it was discreetly tucked and retracted, creating a prominent forward-jutting bulge just below the flat plane of his lower abdomen and nestled comfortably between his tree-trunk sized thighs, with just the tip of his glans exposed and surrounded by what I assumed were his testicles.

He was doing that raggedy-ass horror movie monster breathing, loud and measured as he continued staring at me. Since I knew he could be quiet about it I could only assume that meant something and I took it for warning.

"Whatever it is you're thinking of getting pissed about...I didn't do it," I informed him. I'd intended to sound firm but in my own ears I just sounded loud, in a way that came off defensive and scared instead of firm and defiant.

His breathing hitched and held before he issued a low rumble and started forward. Like a 1950's housewife, my mind actually said 'Oh, dear.'

While his approach wasn't directly threatening – believe me, there was a definite warning walk in his repertoire – his sustained stare and apparent tension were setting off my internal alarms. Not a few of them; _all_ of them. The soothing effects of the tub I was still submerged in were negated and I started rapid-fire calculations, mapping out escape routes as I watched him come. He closed in only enough to reach the steps into the tub, then smoothly lowered himself into the water before settling on the far side to continue the direct stare.

"What?" I demanded. At least, I _tried_ to demand but honestly it came out more like a whine. He settled a bit like he was getting comfortable while I rigidly maintained my place.

"Synsen Pet want ooman male?" he trilled, and I blinked.

"Wha_huh_?" I asked stupidly.

"To mate."

I blinked. "You have one?"

He chuffed: _idiot_. I set my jaw and narrowed my eyes: _asshole_. The tub hummed quietly, the water gently agitating and rocking me as I defiantly maintained my end of the staring contest and tried to figure out where the hell this was going all of a sudden. Do I want to get laid? Hell yes, but I wasn't about to admit that to him. At this point it was practically an emergency, which led me to actually not answer his question and left me waiting for more details. Was he thinking of kidnaping a man for me? On the one hand I was nuts enough to think, _How nice_. Better than Christmas. On the other hand I imagined Synsen staring at me while I was having sex, and that was enough to tone down my libido even now. And what about birth control? I was not interested in being Synsen's pregnant pet. Then how do I get the thing...the baby...outta there when the time comes? And who's gonna take care of it? Certainly not me; I wouldn't want to be in the same room with it. And didn't the act of having a kid stretch out your stuff?

The longer the quiet stretched, the faster the wheels in my head were spinning. I was picturing a laundry basket full of babies with price tags on them at a yautja flea market, all conveniently pre-tattooed with bullseyes on their foreheads. Synsen waiting avidly with a giant pair of forceps in his hand every time I went into labor, ready to salad-tong the thing out and toss it in the basket.

"_No!_" I barked abruptly. He grunted and finally looked away, turning and tilting his head. I heard a quiet, steady thrumming from him, a low hum similar to his contented purring when he settled into bed to sleep.

_What the fuck?_ I asked myself for the millionth time, my nervous tension giving way to angry tension. I so did _not_ get him. Not by a long shot, not even remotely. All this time and I still had no idea what the hell was going on, and now I was beginning to think he was wondering the same damn thing, trying to figure out what to do with me.

Annoyed, I huffed and hoisted myself out of the water, then walked around the tub toward the stack of hides set aside on a bench for drying. I kept my back to Synsen now, putting him on notice that he was the one being dismissed for once. I briskly dried off with the soft suede cloths, patting my hair down as best I could, then retreated.

The mask was gone. I took in its disappearance the second I stepped out of the bathing room, part of me looking for it cuz I was in the mood to break something. Thing probably had an app that could read my mind and had warned Synsen that I was plotting against it. Either that or it was capable of sprouting legs and scampering off to hide. I rooted around a bit, looking for it unsuccessfully before giving up.

My rising temper aroused my need for action but there was nothing suitable to take it out on. I needed to _do_ something, preferably something that would contribute to any one of the items on my priority list. Now I was wishing I'd come up with at least _one_ lousy action step. Since I'd lost my opportunity to kill the mask, I had escape and avoid left as priorities...and with that, I glanced at the exit door.

Okay, I was naked. The hides I had used to make myself decent were sweaty and there were eerie glowing greenish droplets on the one I'd used as a top. Snatching it up I looked closer and realized it was Synsen's blood. It gave me a little charge to see that and I smiled tightly; I'd gone mano-a-mano with a yautja and ended up wearing _his_ blood and not my own. _Hah_.

Keeping my eyes on the door to the washroom, I struggled my way back into the top and bottom, working feverishly to secure them and make sure my bits were properly covered. I had a momentary thought, as I headed for the exit door, of wondering what I'd do if he'd locked it when I hadn't been looking, but that dissipated as it opened at my approach.

I hit the corridor at a brisk walk, holding back from outright running. Hopefully if I came across one of the others they would think nothing of me taking myself out for a stroll, but if I did it at a flat-out run they would know something was up. My eyes were wide open and searching the dimly-lit hallway, subconsciously timing the steady pulsing of the engines that seemed to keep pace with the ebbing and rising orangey light.

The interior of the ship seemed almost organic in design; instead of uniform square metallic plates creating square-shaped corridors and rooms, everything was slightly rounded. There were evenly spaced ribs along the walls of the hallway, and from between them came the source of the low light, like there was molten lava flowing just behind the walls. I suspected that was where the perpetual heat was coming from, too, but I wasn't about to go touching to find out.

_Babies_. One minute he's telling me he would like to fuck me, the next he's threatening to fix me, and the next minute he's thinking about using me to start his own puppy mill. His apparent fascination with my reproduction capabilities had severed my last thread of self-restraint and now it was full-on self-preservation. _Something_ was up. What, I didn't know. Maybe he was getting bored with just having me around, and, typical of any male I knew, in his attempt to find another use for me the first thing that comes to mind is if and where he or someone else can stick it.

Hopefully we were heading back to the clan ship and he would resume having access to the honeys, which would get him off his fascination with my privates. Apparently the sonuvabitch couldn't go a week without. Huh; he should try going as long as he's forced me to go without. Asshole.

Subconsciously, while stewing, I was keyed in enough to my surroundings to avoid the areas that I assumed the others might be, like the kehrite and the eating area. If I thought I heard the rumble of voices I ducked and went the other way, keeping restlessly on the move, my eyes constantly searching. There were always options; I just had to find them. And even if Synsen appeared and dragged me back to his room and locked me up, at the very least I could tell myself I'd tried. Maybe I would even see an opportunity that I could act on later.

I found myself in uncharted territory as I cautiously paused where the corridor widened into a large round room. I couldn't see all of it because of the huge rectangular stone-looking columns rising from the floor to the ceiling ahead of me, and I took the time to look and listen before stepping forward. The ship thumped rhythmically, the orange-red-yellow light pulsed, and my nose detected a slightly acrid odor like bleach. _The laundry room_, I thought, then giggled quietly. I waited a bit longer, then stepped from the corridor into the room slowly, my head swiveling as I took it in.

Between the more widely spaced supporting ribs of the walls there were recessed alcoves here, and I paused at the sight of the bones on display. It was like a museum, one without rhyme or reason. The back wall of each recess was decked out in skulls, some bone-white, some gray, some almost like polished ebony stone. I stilled and stared, not quite able to believe what I was seeing at first, trying to make sense, once again, of a yautja's idea of interior decorating. It wasn't until my eyes came to rest on a collection of four human skulls that I snapped into action and went closer, part of me unwilling while my legs mindlessly churned through the knee-deep mist and relentlessly propelled me.

A grunt interrupted my hypnotic approach and I snapped out of it as movement to my side caught my attention. Otis. Clearly he had noticed me and was now staring hawkishly, his fierce eyes bright above his huge sagging lower tusks. In his massive hands was a comparatively small human skull, and while I stared back at him he turned away to an empty alcove, chose a metal spike sticking out of the wall, and jammed it on. I winced at the sound of metal grinding against bone as he pressed his thumb against the forehead to shove it back another inch. Apparently satisfied, he grunted again and turned back to look at me.

"Nice," I said meekly, then tore my attention off him to pass a glance around. _So he was the decorator?_ I thought, taking in a bizarre array of skulls and aware that the only recognizable ones were the human ones. They were scattered around randomly like accent points, mixed with long ones, wide ones, tall ones, none of which I could rest my eyes on and definitively name the animal it had come from. Kind of over-the-top, if you ask me, though I was seeing a vague sort of pattern between the complex horns, spines, teeth and crenelations of the skulls with the randomly bizarre patterning of the ship's walls. Otis, the serial murdering interior designer, was probably expensive, judging by the effect.

Otis issued a trickling, ticking growl, then indicated the room with a sweep of his arm. "Not I tro-fee. Synsen tro-fee," he rumbled ponderously.

I blinked. "You mean these are _real_?" He cocked his head, long grey tresses sliding heavily from the back of his head. It communicated my stupidity to me as effectively as Synsen's chuffs did. I was getting tired of being so stupid. Pointing to the skull he'd just placed on the wall, I asked, "So that's real, then?"

He moved his head slightly to glance at what I was pointing at, then said, "My."

"Yeah okay, I get it." Annoyed now, I stepped across the large room, still pointing, moving closer to him. "That's real?" I demanded, unable and unwilling to believe it. _No it's not_, my mind insisted. _He makes these things out of resin or something in his spare time. Thinks they're cool, like a twenty-year-old Goth pot head living in his parents' basement._

I skirted around him cautiously and boldly walked right up to tap my fingernail against the skull's dome a few times. It _felt_ bony, but what the hell did I know? Looking more closely I saw the jagged seams around the crown, the excruciating detail of the finer bone structure, the tiny pits in the lower jaw, the missing molar, the sparkle of a silver filling in the adjoining molar. And suddenly I became aware of Otis standing next to me, way too close for comfort, raining heat down on me as his breathing roughened threateningly. I'd touched his stuff, which despite my disbelief was apparently the real deal, and now he was getting pissed.

My back rigid, I eased off slowly to put some distance between us. "Synsen pet. Synsen tro-fee," Otis rumbled, pointing to me then around the room. "Ne'hemikta tro-fee," he said, pointing to the skull I'd just molested.

"Oops," I said quietly, desperately trying to get a grip. There was a very angry and very large yautja in my face trying to lay out boundaries for me while reality set in. I stared docilely down at his odd clawed feet while my mind worked itself like a Rubix cube, rearranging, twisting here and there and coming up with new conclusions. Maybe what Otis was trying to tell me was that all these skulls were former pets of Synsen...maybe I was next.

Otis bashed me out of my developing theory by grabbing me by the face and forcing my head up so he could glare down into my eyes. His hand was huge, and the mental image of how small the skull had looked in it flashed through my mind. He effectively muzzled me, big thumb laid strategically and a bit painfully over my right cheekbone while the rest of his fingers spanned from my left cheekbone to below my jaw, then tightened to press the points of his claws against my skin. 'Oops' had apparently not been adequate apology and groveling for him. My eyes widened as he bent to lower his ugly face closer to my own, mandibles spreading as he growled quietly.

There was a bark and Otis stopped his building, threatening looming and turned his head, his growl increasing. I flicked my eyes sideways and could barely see Synsen at the edge of my limited vision, standing there dressed, for once, his tresses flared and his fists clenched. Then Otis shoved me back roughly and I staggered to keep my balance, my arms windmilling comically. I whacked my hand on one of the unadorned metal spikes before crashing to the floor and scattering the damp mist, then I scrambled back and regained my feet. Yautja-to-yautja it had probably been a pretty gentle push, but Otis had better than two hundred pounds on me and was built like Baby Huey, too strong for his own good. My jaw hurt, my hand hurt, my ass hurt. That was on top of my already aching shoulder; I'd had my fill of being brutalized today.

I put some distance between myself and Otis, aware that the two of them were silently staring at each other now. Moving further into the room had only brought more skulls to my awareness and the sudden, unpleasant realization that I was literally surrounded by them. Something clenched in my chest, a welling sensation of panic, a building need to get the fuck out. I stilled, though, when my eye caught on a recess filled with...it took a moment to make the connection...yautja skulls. Big knobby crests, spread bony mandibles tipped with fang-like tusks, small lower jaws lined with fearsome sharp teeth. I blinked and took them in, seeing the variations in the adornment of spines, crest size and bony protuberances, making a rapid connection having to do with age. Synsen and Otis both had a lot going on head-wise; all the greys did when compared to the younger warriors. The skulls on Synsen's wall showed me that the spikes and lumps weren't surface skin features: it was as if their bones continued to calcify throughout their lives, adding layers, building and growing more prominent adornments. Clearly he wasn't a baby-killer or whatever his kind called it, though why he was killing _anybody_, monster, human or yautja was beyond me.

_Motherfucker is running around just killing everything and one, and apparently not bothering to hide that fact_, I thought. That did not bode well for me, though it made me wonder why the hell I was still alive. Couldn't be that he had a higher tolerance for me than anyone else, seeing as I pissed him off fairly regularly.

Otis rumbled, the sound resolving into ground-out words with harsh pauses. Synsen said something back, equally deep and threatening-sounding. They both were rigidly posed and eerily still. Definitely struck me as a sort of 'caught you touching my stuff' kind of altercation. So long as they were occupied with each other, I figured it was time to excuse myself so I slunk back, spotted an exit, and disappeared.

I was bleeding, now that I took the time to perform a self-inspection. Hand and face, apparently. Wasn't too bad but the cuts throbbed in time with my heartbeat, which seemed to sync itself to the steady beat of the engines and lights. That didn't help me shut the pain of my injuries out of my conscious awareness, and it hurt too much to clench my jaw in annoyance.

Agitated, I moved full-circle around the ship, ending up back in the round skull room. Otis and Synsen were no longer here and I had the sense that my captor was probably looking for me. _Hunting_ me. My eyes came to rest on the huge stone pillars and followed them up to the domed ceiling that pulsed with light like the walls. There was a ledge around it with mist spilling over the lip here and there. _Probably from vents_, I supposed ..._vents_...

An idea for achieving an action step in my priority list popped into my head: avoid and escape. I picked out the pillar nearest the lip then circled it, studying the carved designs on all sides to find the easiest path up. Finding a likely route, I paused long enough to flex my hands and shoulders, take a quick glance around to make sure I wasn't being watched, then I clambered up. Slipped once or twice but recovered successfully to gauge a way to transfer from the pillar to the maybe two-foot high gap between the lip and the ceiling. I could see now that there were vents, rounded of course, and every other one was spilling that wet mist. There was plenty enough room for me to squeak my way into a non-misting vent so I could oonch my way to a hiding place that Synsen had no hope in hell of getting to.

I patted myself on the back mentally for my pure genius, balancing on the pillar and reaching for the lip. I managed to catch hold and paused long enough to catch my breath before swinging my weight over and clambering up. I was grinning fiercely, flush with success, taking a second to decide which vent was most likely to bury me in the bowels of the ship, then entered it.

It was plenty roomy enough for me to creep along comfortably and not feel claustrophobic, slightly wider than it was high and keeping to a squat rounded shape. Plus, there were _options_, and I loved options. Connecting vents off to either side at fairly regular intervals, assuring me that if I needed to back out I wouldn't have to oonch too far to get to a place where I could turn myself around. I needed to do that fairly early on, as I came across what looked like a tube of magma bisecting the tunnel I was in. I stared, debating, calculating that I could probably squeeze beneath it, but in the end I didn't have the guts to touch it and see if doing so would hurt. Even from a distance I could feel the intense heat blowing my way so I took the wiser route, backing out and choosing a different vent.

I worked my way through the vents, my shoulder giving me grief while I explored. Every so often there was a mesh grate that not only added light but allowed me to check my progress and see what room I was in. I not only needed a mental map of the network of vents that were passable, but I needed to have a way to quickly pop out to grab food or water and get right back in without getting caught or finding myself unable to dart back into hiding. To that end, I spent hours creeping along on my forearms and toes, finding the private quarters, the kehrite (here the ceiling was too high for me to successfully be able to drop out and grab a weapon or two), the food storage area, all circling around the trophy room.

Eventually I stopped to rest, comfortably positioned dead center of a T-junction with another vent entrance straight above me, giving me multiple options and directions for a quick escape if I needed it. Body aching from awkward exertion and my busy mind tired, I rolled onto my side and gave myself permission to take a break. The vents, I was convinced, had been a lucky find, giving me control over my fate and future. Not that I was entertaining thoughts of living in them for decades like a crafty mouse, darting out at night to steal food and water; it was the knowledge that I was out of Synsen's reach that thrilled me. Even if I died in here I would get my revenge on the bastard, hopefully stinking up his entire ship and making it uninhabitable. Guaranteed he would never think to return to earth and snatch another female to try again after a debacle like that, and that thought gave me some margin of pride.

* * *

><p>He had insulted her, Synsen realized as he thrummed instinctively to soothe her sudden show of temper, ducking his head and looking away as she barked at him in response to his question. He had fairly well settled himself into the decision to give her to his clan's research division, creating a firm separation from the temptation she presented. Her upcoming heat cycle would no doubt be as alluring to males of her own kind as to him, and she would be far more willing to breed with one of the soldiers than with him.<p>

Therefore her angry refusal came as a shock, and made him aware that she had been insulted by his asking if she wanted to mate with a male of her species. It reminded him that she had made her decision and chosen him, and his question had been disrespectful to her. Despite the fact that she was a mere ooman pet, instinct had driven him to respond to her temper as he would to a show of temper from one of his own kind's females, immediately looking away and purring low in hopes to mollify her and communicate that insult had not been intended.

He was unsure if the tactic worked on her, though she had ceased, glared at him a moment, then exited the bathing pool. He watched from the corner of his eye as she dried her soft skin and left the room, leaving him alone. It was hard for him to say with any certainty that his response had been the correct one, as his purr trickled to a stop and was replaced by the quiet hum of the agitators churning the viscous liquid in the pool.

While she might be his pet and his to do with what he wanted, what he was considering was a complicated thing. More so, now that she had made her wishes clear to him. It was not in the nature of his species to force a female or to take the initiative with one, but while she desired him she had a habit of issuing invitation and taking it away. Her mating rituals were different, then. She pretended indifference to her heat cycles and made no attempts to seek him out for relief during them. She protested his every attempt to handle her and yet had not only risked her life to secure his freedom from capture, but had issued blatant invitation while at the same time attempting to deny his rightful retaking of possession of her.

It wasn't even necessarily her behavior that distressed and annoyed him; it was his uncertainty regarding her. And while on the one hand he was well within his rights, on the other hand he was restrained by the simple fact that he had never taken the initiative with a female before and was unsure how to go about doing such a thing. He had observed other creatures' mating rituals and watched the displays and dances of the males, used to attract females and put them in mind for breeding, and it had fascinated him.

Still, there was one universal truth to the matings of most creatures: the females made the decision with whom to mate. All males clashed and competed on some level to earn the right, to prove potential. Those at the head of any herd, harem or flock had to fight off other males to keep it, and most seasonal breeders battled for the right to a prime territory that was most likely to attract a female. There was a planet where the number of males vastly outnumbered females, where mating rituals involved taking aggressive possession of a female even against her will, then being forced to fight all comers in order to keep her long enough to not only forcibly breed her but give her time to gestate and whelp young. As the highly aggressive males made for good sport, his clan and many others had sizable populations of females in their possession, used to lure males in for unBlooded training hunts. Synsen had long suspected that the imbalance of the sexes and the extreme aggression of the males was probably due to the influence of his own kind over untold centuries.

Oomans, on the other hand, were oddly secretive about their breeding habits, as if it was a shameful thing to mate. Males and females kept mixed company with little conflict and unclear boundaries and leadership. Synsen mulled over what little he knew, then decided that he could probably gather the information he needed from the files that had been sent to him. And with that thought in mind, he exited the bathing pool, dried himself off, and entered his quarters.

His pet wasn't here. He checked the bedding, then noticed that the small pile of hides she used to cover herself were gone as well. He had, he realized, forgotten to secure the exit door, and apparently the clever female had taken advantage of his lapse.

He dressed quickly and exited his quarters, upper tusks raised as he drew in deep breaths to find and follow her scent trail. It wasn't hard to do, as she was wearing hides she'd dampened with her sweat, then he headed out after her. And when he found her it was not only in a room in his ship he had carefully avoided introducing her to, she was currently under Ne'hemikta's control.

At once, he felt a sense of possessiveness well up in him, a feeling as if Ne'hemikta was boldly stealing his prey right out from under his tusks and trying to claim it for himself. His immediate response was a blatant, challenging bark directed at the Ancient, and a welling sense of outrage that Ne'hemikta had dared to attempt such an unacceptable breach of etiquette while a guest in Synsen's territory. Synsen registered his pet's fall as Ne'hemikta shoved her away but kept his full attention on the other Arbitrator, bristling with threat and warning.

Rumbling with his own warning, Ne'hemikta said, "You should teach it proper manners so it knows better than to touch another's trophies without permission."

Synsen's attention flicked to the once-empty section of trophy wall beyond the other Arbitrator and saw the single skull that now adorned it. Briefly he recalled Ne'hemikta's delighted toying with one particular soldier, the one they'd decided was the leader. He'd not only been well armed but heavily armored, and while the Ancient pursued him through the ooman facility the rest of them had split forces to concentrate on eradicating the rest. Synsen hadn't taken any trophies, going so far as to destroy the skulls of his kills as if to deny himself the opportunity to have second thoughts. While Ne'hemikta had enjoyed himself on this ooman hive cleansing, Synsen had gone in with more of an efficient business-like mindset, moving almost by rote, maintaining his stealth and focusing on just getting it done. He had, after all, been distracted lately by a female of the very species he was culling at the moment, part of him even then subconsciously on the hunt for another female. Not to take but to encounter so he could compare their behavior. Though he was a veteran of being shot at by ooman males, his pet was the first female to raise a weapon against him, and now he was wondering if all were so enticingly vicious.

The empty part of the trophy wall on his ship had stayed that way and become the location for the temporary placement of guest trophies, hung and displayed with pride until their owner returned to his own ship and took it with him. Synsen glanced at his pet, now wondering why, of all the trophies in the room, she had chosen to touch Ne'hemikta's. Was she indicating that she had chosen another male? He had to think so, since the room boasted many ooman skulls, as well as those of far more dangerous prey. There could be no other reason for her to show more interest in Ne'hemikta's single ooman skull than in his own impressive and vast collection.

His realization deflated his possessive aggression, leaving him uncertain once again. And once again, his pet's behavior confused him and contradicted his assumption as she quietly exited the room, leaving him and Ne'hemikta still standing off with each other. Choosing, then rejecting. Indicating interest then losing it.

"I will teach her," he rumbled now to Ne'hemikta. "And you will follow your own advice."

The Ancient chuffed, both mollified as Synsen backed down and rebuked as he was called out for touching another's trophy without permission himself. "Chi'kal-de tells me you made him apologize to it," he growled.

Synsen narrowed his eyes. "_It_ pleases me. He had no right to put her in danger. Neither did you."

"It's not wise to drag such a thing around and call it a pet. It will distract you. Get a proper pet, a scenting beast to help you track. Paya knows you have enough room for it, even two or three," he suggested, with a vague wave of his arm. Another thing that seemed to annoy Ne'hemikta was the size of Synsen's cruiser; he saw it as unnecessarily large and overly extravagant, since he himself kept a simple single-occupant cruiser that didn't require a separate drop ship for terrestrial excursions. Ne'hemikta was a purist, taking pride in his minimalist nature as if it were a badge of honor. The size of Synsen's personal vessel was the main reason the rest preferred to use his ship for their post-mating-season group hunts. The Ancient tended to view it as Synsen's way of showing off and bragging; Synsen viewed it as ensuring his own comfort. He traveled far and wide and was ready to face the gods on behalf of his clan's honor; he deserved to indulge himself and the smaller personal cruisers made him feel confined and agitated.

Synsen snorted. "I don't need scent beasts to help me hunt."

"Well what do you need an ooman female for?" Ne'hemikta pounced.

Caught out, Synsen hesitated, then gathered himself. "Relief of tension...pleasure...freedom from limited seasonal mating opportunities," he said evenly, quoting the records of the Arbitrator who had listed the benefits of taking an ooman female as a pet. Ne'hemikta's eyes widened.

"You _are_ rutting it, then," he realized.

Synsen chose not to correct him. And to his surprise, instead of leveling scathing condemnation and accusations, Ne'hemikta just shook his great head and walked away as if his arguments and objections were nullified by Synsen's blatant admission.

Still, the fact remained that he needed to find her and clarify his suspicion that she had chosen him as a breeding partner. He returned to tracking her by scent, following her wandering course through his ship and back into his trophy room. Here her scent was strong and he circled, looking, listening and smelling, until he ended up standing beside a religious pillar and staring up as realization set in. Apparently his pet had climbed up a very old, very sacred and very rare relic, from there entering into his ship's ventilation system. Why, he couldn't fathom. Perhaps her intentions with soliciting Ne'hemikta and now secreting herself away were to punish him. Her heat cycle would begin soon and Synsen well knew that the accompanying hormonal surge was capable of creating extreme mood swings in a female. Every male pup's initiation into being sent to begin training as an unBlooded began when his bearer went into her first heat after weaning him.

He circled the pillar a few times, debating. Provided she steered clear of the heating elements that carried molten plasma from the engines throughout the ship, didn't enter any of the nitrogen vents and managed to avoid getting herself trapped...that was a lot of 'ifs'. He grunted and walked briskly toward his ship's bridge, mentally rerouting the flow of gases and superheated plasma in his mind so that when he arrived he was prepared to move quickly. He shut down entire sections of ventilation, tapping buttons that triggered vents to close down in an attempt to barricade his pet and corral her in a relatively small area. Another day and the others would be back on the clan ship. He would leave his pet to her hiding game for now and take the opportunity to educate himself on whatever wisdom the records had to impart to him regarding her kind. And after, he would finish the job of hunting and taming her.

* * *

><p>I woke abruptly to a loud sound and a slight shivering sensation, my eyes snapping open before my brain even realized I was conscious. I remained perfectly still, holding my breath, taking a few seconds to remember where I was then doing a physical inventory while I mentally replayed the sound I thought I'd heard.<p>

_The drop ship_, it occurred to me. I remembered where I'd heard that sound before and what it had meant. They were leaving? Was I here alone now?

No matter what it meant, there wasn't a whole lot I could do about it right now. I let out the breath I'd been holding and started a slow fully-body stretch, aware by my sheer overall stiffness that I'd been asleep for awhile. It felt like heaven, to be honest; I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept until I couldn't sleep anymore. I worked out every muscle in my body in languid slow motion, my movements only limited by the height and width of the vent I was in, then followed it up with a good general scratching wherever necessary. Finished with that, I decided it was time to get something to eat.

Took me a moment to orient myself and map out a route in my head, then I backed up a bit and clambered into a lower vent to make my way to the place where the food was stored. Cautiously, I slowed my rapid movements as I closed in on the grate positioned in the center of the room, going into stealth mode just in case there was still someone here. Logically, regardless of the fact that Synsen hadn't managed to find me yet, he knew I was still on the ship. On the one hand I wouldn't be surprised if he decided to teach me a lesson by leaving me here alone, but on the other hand...on the other hand I couldn't help but feel that that lesson wasn't going to be delivered so lightly.

Food had been left out. I noticed it the second I peered through the tight dark mesh of the grate. Not just any food, but a deliberate assortment of pet food: some meat, some cut fruit, thick slabs of dark bread and a bowl of stew, a small pile of greens that had been boiled down to make them more palatable and easier to eat. It was a veritable feast laid out on a tray and carefully set smack-dab on the huge table directly below the ventilation gate in the center of the room.

_Bait_. Damn him. And apparently he was well aware of my hiding place. Though it was temptingly set out and seemingly unguarded, I would have to make my way over to the grate above the cabinets against the wall in order to get down, cross the room to the food, then climb the cabinets back to the reachable grate to go back into hiding. And Synsen could be anywhere.

_Then again maybe it's not bait_, my stomach tried to reason as I stared, _maybe it's a peace offering?_

_Peace offering my ass_, logic insisted.

Still staring, I thought it over. So okay, he's put me on notice, then: _I know where you're hiding and you gotta come out of there and eat eventually._ Thing was, I didn't; I could start starving myself anytime. Might as well start now. And now, just as payback for this cruel trick he'd pulled, I was going to use the vents over his quarters as my personal toilet before I starved to death. With any luck, there was a grate positioned directly over his bed.

I backed out of the food area and continued my exploration, making my second unpleasant discovery. Some of the vents were blocked off and I could have _sworn_ I'd crawled through them the day before. After awhile of painstaking oonching and backtracking I was sure of it; now I was unable to access the personal quarters. I tried accessing lower and higher levels, feeling turned around and considering the possibility that I was completely lost as I made my way along a corridor, using my forearms and my knees.

Some inner sense was triggered and I stilled, shut my mind down, and _listened_. There was nothing, over the throbbing of the engines, the ticks of the metal around me, the whispery hiss of the ventilation system. It didn't matter that there was no sensory clue to back up my suspicions; the primitive cavegirl part of me _insisted_ something was wrong, and I didn't need to think very hard to come up with what it might be. _Synsen_. I hadn't seen hide nor dreadlock of him since he'd confronted Otis but common sense dictated he wasn't sitting around on his ass waiting for me to give myself up.

The odd orangey light coming through the nearest grate was mottled as it pulsed, not giving away any shadows or movements. My nose was filled with the scent of ozone and metal and the faint scent of my own sweat and leather from the hides I was wrapped in. The fine hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I wondered if Synsen could smell me, and I thought: _Probably_. Like a fucking bloodhound. And the longer I stayed in one place, the more my scent would give my location away, I suspected.

Carefully, I eased myself up off my belly and started forward, my movements delicate. There was a sudden, tremendous _bang_ as the floor of the vent in front of me dented upward a foot from my face, and my eyes went wide as I took in the distinctive fist shape and the two huge knives spearing upward to the roof of the vent. It was then, in that instant of total, horrified silence, that I heard a distinctive and familiar ticking that sent a sensation like a wave of ice through my veins.

Staying heroically silent I started to ease back. There was a horrific metal on metal scrape as the blades retracted and I stilled, then there was another bang from right behind me that sent me as far up on my hands and knees as the height of the vent would allow. I imagined that the business side of those blades were an inch from my backside and I came close to peeing myself, then heard Synsen's low and slightly muffled trill of amusement. No doubt he knew my goose was cooked as well as I did.

The fact that he had the unmitigated gall to find this entertaining squirted some life back into me and brought my rational intelligence back online. My eyes darted as I maintained my end of the standoff, hoping he wouldn't decide that this would be even funnier if he managed to stab me in the ass, then I settled my attention on the grate ahead. Just above it was the opening of another vent, one that would take me into a higher network of tunnels and probably - _hopefully_ - out of his reach.

I drew in a deep, quiet breath and darted forward, scrambling over the huge dent left by his fist, hearing the shriek of metal behind me as he reacted and sure he was fixing to try and cut me off. I hadn't anticipated that he'd be willing to blithely trash his own stuff while toying with me; lesson learned.

I didn't hear a sound from him as I closed in on the junction; then again I was pretty much thundering like a sizable herd of miniature African elephants through the ventilation system. The grate on the floor ahead of me, which I knew was a heavy sonuvabitch, banged upward hard enough to hit the roof of the vent and clang noisily over onto its side, and I reared up into the T as Synsen's hand reached up. I got my upper body into the vertical shaft and stood, then felt his hand brush my leg before snapping closed around my calf. I tugged, using my arms to brace and wedge as hard as I could against the narrow walls on either side of me, but Synsen held firm. There was a shitload of noise going on below me and I took advantage of the fact that he wasn't dragging me out ass-first by getting a bit higher...then made the mistake of looking down as I tried to kick his hand off my leg.

The blades attached to his wrist gauntlet had made short work of the vent all around the grate opening, carving through it like butter to widen it, and he was in the process of bending the metal downward after cutting it apart. Shit had to be a half inch thick and he folded it back with ease, like it was cardboard, while the metal issued a tortured groan. While he had been busy with that he'd held onto me; now his grip tightened and he pulled. The breath I'd taken exploded outward as I fought to pull myself up and away to no avail, hanging on for a few seconds as the amount of downward pull on my leg successfully tore me out of the vent. My formerly dislocated shoulder screamed but I didn't; I let out an enraged roar as I resisted and fought back, at the bruising grip of his hand, at the sensation of his claws digging into then piercing my skin, as my strength failed and I slipped out of my hiding place and my brain screamed because once again, I lost and Synsen won.

He arrested my high fall by catching me then swiftly dumping me to the floor. Panting, I groaned and rolled to my back to find him staring down at me through the eye holes of his fucking mask. He ticked rapidly, then lifted his head and looked up at the mess he'd made of his ventilation system. Fuck me. The vent I'd just been in was just above his head height and therefore well within his reach. Once again I'd miscalculated and Synsen hadn't hesitated to take full advantage of my dumbassery. I had to wonder if the sonuvabitch was _ever_ off his game.

With a low growl, he lowered his head and looked down at me again. "_What_?" I demanded, defiant and pissed, more at myself than at him. He was what he was, a lethal and destructive monster, and I was just the vermin blocking up the works in his crib. "_I_ didn't do that; _you_ did," I snapped, lying on my back and pointing up at the ductwork he'd destroyed. The growl cut off and something nudged me from underneath. Oh great. I was lying on his feet.

"Up," he rumbled, drawing the word out with what sounded like delicious anticipation. He made no move to step back and give me space, leaving it to me to roll to my hands and knees then climb to my feet, hitching the pained groan that wanted to come out. At this point there wasn't much left of me that wasn't hurting.

The second I worked myself up to fully upright status Synsen's left hand shot out and folded tightly under my jaw, forcing my head back. His thumb swiped back and forth over the symbol he'd carved into my cheek, his big black meathook of a claw passing over my eyeball. I let out a breath through my nose and held still; vast personal experience had taught me that trying to struggle would be a waste of time and energy, only to ultimately result in a far tighter grip. I couldn't help but notice the twin tips of a pair of wrist blades retracted into the gauntlet over the back of his left hand, and my eyes switched to see his right hand, where he had always worn the wrist blades. There was another gauntlet housing the blades there, too. He'd come fully prepared to carve my ass out of the walls of the ship with both hands.

"Not be long, Pet," he rumbled. I stiffened.

"What won't be long?" I mumbled, his hand still wrapped snugly beneath my jaw, his fingers wrapped around my cheeks.

"You," he said, then made a curt motion with his head upward, lifting and jerking his chin toward the destroyed ductwork. "Not be long there."

I blinked, deflated, then giggled as I realized what he was saying. Silly me, I'd thought for a second there that he was telling me I wouldn't be in the land of the living much longer. Instead, he's telling me I don't belong in the ventilation system.

He rumbled, a throbbing baritone vocalization that reverberated in my bones, then he released my face. I was relieved for all of three seconds until his hand closed in the length of my hair and he turned and headed out. I scrambled to keep my feet, my chin tucked and turned to the side as he moved rapidly, not letting up until he tugged me closer, let my hair go, then shoved me toward the table in the food room. The tray was still there, still strategically placed beneath the grate a good ten feet above the table. Synsen reached easily across and slid the tray to a spot right in front of a chair, then looked at me.

"Eat."

I scowled. First of all, I should have stayed in this room the second I'd spotted the tray from the vent above. Would have been out of his reach here. And now I was wondering if he'd set the food out to give me the opportunity to be a good girl and come out of hiding on my own.

Moot point now either way, but Synsen didn't hold grudges. I was starving and wasted no time in practically diving face-first into the stew, keeping tabs on Synsen as he removed his mask and set it aside well out of my way. He flexed his mandibles silently like he was stretching them, then went to an insulated cabinet that kept food cool, withdrew a bowl, shoved it into the yautja version of a microwave to heat up the contents, and stood at the counter to pick out chunks of meat, eating while he watched me.

I had some of the meat and vegetables, as aware of the fact that I was under steady surveillance as I was of the fact that there wasn't much I could do about it. Felt ominous, though. I wondered about the drop ship that I thought I'd heard, that had woken me up, and I supposed that the others might be gone, leaving me alone here with Synsen.

_That would mean we were within reach of the clan ship, right?_ I thought. So why was Synsen still here?

_To get me out of the vents_, I supposed. _But then why didn't the others wait until he did that?_ Had I known we were that close to returning to the larger ship I might have bided my time, but the sonuvabitch had gotten under my skin. I would think he'd be just itching to get back there and resume strutting his stuff in front of the ladies, but he actually seemed to be pretty relaxed and laid back.

Now that didn't make sense, I thought, and furrowed my brow as I snuck a glance at him. He was holding a piece of meat speared on his dexterous mandibles, biting hunks of it off and bolting it down efficiently. When he caught my eye he stilled, staring, then he rumbled and resumed eating.

Something was up, no two ways about it. Put off, I reached for the heavy tankard of water on the tray and misjudged, brushing it with my fingertips. Suddenly out of sorts, I went still and realized I was sorta seeing double. Small wonder; I was tired, exhausted actually. Shit was catching up to me.

On my second try I successfully wrapped my hand around the heavy cup and got the water to my lips, then sucked it down thirstily. Despite Synsen's rude staring I felt myself settling and relaxing and I paced myself methodically as I kept eating. The leafy greens were too much work so I gave them up after a few pieces and went back to the meat. I tore chunks off the bread and dipped them in the stew, fumbling here and there until it finally dawned on me.

This time when I looked at Synsen, he paused in bolting down the meat in his mandibles, then quickly finished it and set the remainder in the bowl aside as he straightened and stood up from his lean against the counter. And that was all it took to confirm that the lethargy descending over me wasn't because I was really just tired and worn out.

"Oh, you dirty pool playing motherfuck," I muttered, slurring a little.

The food _had_ been bait. Had I taken it and climbed out from the vents to scarf it down, no doubt he would have left me in peace to eat it. Now that I was aware of what was happening, the process seemed to be accelerating. I roughly shoved the tray back and shot to my feet, feeling the ship lurch alarmingly around me as my vision tripled, then quadrupled. Four Synsens. God help me. I scrambled back as they picked up their bowls and returned them to the coolers, all of them chirring softly in amusement, the sound blending and mixing together. The chair I'd been sitting in almost took me out as I backpedaled, and some part of me was aware that I was gonna have a beaut of a bruise on my hip though right now I was feeling no pain.

"Should not standing, Pet," the four Synsens said in unison as my eyes flicked between them. I wasn't sure if this was a side effect of whatever he'd done to my food or if it was another of his magic tricks, like the disappearing act he could pull at will.

You would think I'd have long since learned to take his advice to heart, but nah...I'm stubborn that way. When I picked out a Synsen to square off to and started unleashing a litany of curses, all four Synsens looked to their right, putting me on notice that I wasn't facing any of them and apparently cursing out the cabinets. I blinked hard and regrouped, successfully reducing the number of Synsens to two. And right about then the wisdom of his advice to sit down kicked in on cue and the fuzziness in my feet crept up my legs until I lurched to keep my balance, alarmed at the sensation, and I crashed onto my ass. Again.

Synsen chuffed. "Got you good, Pet."

I was addled and it took me a minute to remember saying that when I'd mocked him for getting shot with a tranq dart. I just knew that was bound to come back and bite me on the ass. Yautja were sore losers and even worse winners, bloated to bursting with arrogance and self-confidence. To them, everything and everyone else either disgusted them with incompetence or offered enough of a challenge to be found deserving of their mocking and derision. "Fuck_ you_!" I shouted, and Synsen made a chirp sound, his mane flaring. _Uh-oh..._

"Sei-i. Later," both of them growled.

I sputtered. "Oh yeah? I'm not _ugly_ enough for you! And there aren't enough witnesses here for you to be able to get it up, you exhibitionist _freak_! Fucking _biting_ motherfucker – you eat _food_ with those things, too? That's _disgusting_! You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

I jarred to a stop, aware that both Synsens were starting to morph into a third, and all were staring steadily down at me with heads cocked like curious dogs. I'd said something stupid and even I knew it, but what it had been, I didn't know. All I did know was that things in my head were getting very mixed around and I'd completely lost my train of thought. I applied myself to trying to get back to my feet while they watched silently, then gave it up as my numb limbs seemed to not be under my control, sort of flopping around comically.

Eventually my body gave it up and I flopped bonelessly with a small, almost nervous giggling. That knocked off when a single very large Synsen loomed over me and sank into a crouch, hot fingers and thumb closing around my cheeks. I was panting from exertion, and now I struggled to maintain focus.

"Not should fight it, Pet. Sleep now. Save strength for Synsen."

I might not have had enough juice left to power my body but there was enough left for me to back-talk. "You're an asshole," I mumbled, directing the insult to him and his mask as both leered down at me. "Fuckin'...I saved your bacon. Should have let me go..."

"Pet," he said in his ponderous voice, rocking my head side to side gently. "Live or die?" he trilled.

I scowled up at him and tried unsuccessfully to shake his hand off my face. It was an excellent question but one I was in no condition to contemplate right now. He waited silently, holding my face while I tried to find the right words, aware that this was important. I wanted to say that I wanted to be returned to my home to live out my life, but all that came out was a weak, "...live..."

Synsen, looming over me, began to issue a warm, steady rumbling sound. "N'got, Pet," he said through it, over it, around it. "You will submit to Synsen."

It wasn't like I had much choice but to submit to Synsen, and wasn't that what I'd been doing all along? Except for the part where I climbed into the ventilation system, I mean. But god, he dictated practically every minute of my life since he'd ceased trying to crush me on Navassa Island and had instead gone on a hunt for proof of female bits.

"I _do_," I protested. There was an added rumble that overlaid the steady purr. Meantime my stupid brain was repeating that last bit of what I'd just thought over and over like a mantra: .._.proof of female bits...proof of female bits._..

"You will," he said, adding a third layer to the sounds he was producing, making it ominous promise, slight warning and pleased satisfaction all at once.

"Hey..." I said slowly, dimly aware that I was on to something here. Synsen's hand shifted on my face and he let go of me but remained crouching over me, my body beneath the ledge created by his bent knees. "Hey. What if I was a guy? You know...when you..."

_Oh. Oh god, _I thought, getting it finally_._ There was a reason Synsen went easy on me, relatively speaking. Words failed me and I lost the energy to speak, even as I mentally screamed out that I'd changed my mind and would prefer the death option over the life option, please, and make it godamn snappy. I frowned, blinking rapidly and tiredly, then lost the fight against whatever he'd drugged my food with.


	8. Chapter 8

Some of you are asking if Pet has a name. Nope. This had been intended to be a rather dark story, obviously. I had wanted to keep its timeline current, not delving too deeply into who either character was unless it directly applied to what was happening, only sticking to the here-and-now of the situation Pet finds herself in. Originally I had written it from a first-person point-of-view only, but in posting it on FFN I had added Synsen's point of view to make it flow better and fill in the blanks for the reader that Pet is blissfully unaware of. Of course, since I'm (a little) twisted I can find humor in inappropriate situations, but the reality here is that this is a female mercenary who's been kidnapped by a yautja Arbitrator who's been harboring a curiosity about having sex with a human. Who she is didn't matter to him, only that she's female. I find, in this story, that who he is is more important, since he's the one in full control of the situation, then I made it primarily from her point of view. Like I said: twisted.

Thank you so much for your reviews! Here's another long chapter to show my gratitude!

Disclaimer: I don't own the concept of Predator(s) and I'm not making any money off this story. It's Mature-rated for every reason you can think of, and maybe one or two more. It all depends on how much of a freak Synsen turns out to be...

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><p>I had the sense that I'd been out for a good long while when I woke in Synsen's bed. He wasn't in it, and when I rolled woozily to the floor then shuffled to the toilet I didn't encounter him. He'd left a large jug of water on the table-desk-console doohickey and whether or not he'd intended it for me, I poured a cupful and gulped it down thirstily. There was a covered tray beside it with cooked meats, small sweet fruits and a mixture of greens. I recovered the tray, not hungry and not trusting that the food hadn't been seasoned with the same shit that I was still recovering from.<p>

My makeshift clothes were gone, missing not only from my body but nowhere in the room. There were no freshies laid out; that couldn't be good. The exit door from his quarters was locked anyway. I did an agitated walk-around and found that everything seemed to be where it should be and there were no ominous additions, like one of those sex swings hanging from the ceiling, then I retrieved his pimp fur from the bed and wrapped myself in it to sit down and have a good hard _think_.

_I am a titanic idiot_, I thought, picking right up where I'd left off when I'd lost consciousness, as if it had been only moments ago and not the hours I felt it had been. No wonder Synsen chuffed derisively at me every thirty seconds. Clearly I was in _need_ of a good chuffing. _Dumbass_, I chided myself.

For awhile all I was able to think was only a mantra of _Holy Crap_ as I recalled the sex test in the midst of being murdered on Navassa Island. That was the reason, I realized now, that he'd shredded my top and tried to carve through the vest when he'd initially caught me. Though at the time I'd thought he was attempting to gut me he was _perving_, not killing, going for a boob check. And when he'd been unable to get through the protective plates and look under the hood, he'd torn off the front of my pants to do a front bumper check. God help me if he ever got around to kicking the tires and taking my ass for a test ride.

_Why did he all of a sudden stop killing me to jam his fingers between my legs? _I wondered now, working my way through the problem at hand. _Did he do that with every other soldier?_ As the unlucky slob who'd drawn the short straw and ended up on patrol on the far side of the island from the facility that day, I hadn't actually seen very much. I'd lived it vicariously through radio transmissions until halving the distance to the facility at a flat-out run before making my first hostile contacts with the black demon things, what Synsen called _kainde amedha_. By that point shit had already started to go rapidly downhill, but at no point could I recall anyone screaming out anything to the effect of: 'He's got my dick!' or: 'He's ripping the pants off so-and-so!'

Dimly, I was aware that I was starting to hyperventilate, and there was a major portion of me stridently demanding that I run away from pursuing any further thoughts on this subject. I couldn't, though; my ability to play dumb had just been officially exhausted. And in my stupidity, I had sort of directed the sequence of events that led right to this moment, hadn't I? I'd had a golden opportunity to be free of him and I'd not only blown it but killed people in the process, earning Synsen's respect. Synsen had outright _asked_ me if I wanted a human man and I'd said no. Then he'd offered me the choice to live or die and I'd insisted on living.

Oh. My. God.

I got up with a huff and started to frantically pace, striding the length of the room and dragging the pelt along with me. _There was no explaining this misunderstanding to Synsen,_ I thought, then laughed caustically. At no point had I bothered to tell him my reasoning for breaking him out, and I hadn't bothered to ask him why he'd asked me if I wanted a human male, leaving it entirely up to him to decide what my motivation might be in refusing his offer. If my worst fears were correct, the arrogant sonuvabitch had apparently decided that I had the _hots_ for him.

"What the fuck is _wrong_ with you!" I asked myself now, aware that it was too late to even bother asking that. All I knew about Synsen was that he was a dick with a body attached, and his entire purpose for existing, far as I could tell, was to strut his stuff in front of the opposite sex, fuck it if it made more than ten seconds of eye contact with him, and beat the holy crap out of everyone else. My interpretation of my purpose here was as a commotion attractant. I was useful as an lure that drew the attention of the others and made him stand out more.

_Where the fuck_, I wondered, _is a goddamned gun when I need one?_ Eventually Synsen was going to make an appearance and I desperately needed a way to ward him off, if his intent with me was what I thought it was. Most any female in the military, especially those confronting enemy combatants, had to understand that despite being a soldier in the eyes of your own country, to others you might be considered as nothing more than a spoil of war. When I'd been in active engagements it was always with the understanding of my unit that if things went south and we were going to be taken prisoner by an enemy who didn't follow and accept the tenants of the Geneva Convention, they should off me if I couldn't do it myself. Synsen, I suspected, could give a shit about the human protocols outlining the humane and respectful treatment of prisoners.

Though I had to admit...if rape had been his intention all along he was sure as hell taking his sweet time acting on it. Seemed to be busy with a whole bunch of other stuff, ask me. Even now he wasn't here to finish what he'd started, and every so often a metallic banging sound reached my ears. Sonuvabitch was hammering away at something, from the sound of it. The realization that he hadn't been crouched over me, avidly waiting for me to regain consciousness helped calm me somewhat. Maybe my assumption was totally off the mark.

That, and the fact that he had enough temperance and discretion to ramp up his handling of me in measured levels so that he only had to use enough force to get his way, an admittedly attractive trait in a being capable of pretty much destroying anything he put his hands on. I shifted the fur aside and extended the leg he'd caught and pulled to remove me from the vent. His hand was huge enough to wrap around my upper calf just below my knee, and there were small bruised scabs from his claws that honestly weren't even worth putting a band-aid on. I'd seen him dig those same inch-long claws cuticle-deep into Milo to catch and fling him across the kehrite; had he done the same to me I would undoubtedly still be bleeding internally. They'd shredded through my fatigues and the heavy fabric of the combat vest I'd been wearing on Navassa Island with ease; since then he'd been careful around me with the business ends of those things. While I wouldn't exactly call him gentle, I had to admit that he, at the very least, tempered what he was capable of doing when it came to me.

To the point, my mind added, that he'd destroyed a vent in a corridor of his ship to get me out of it, instead of just ripping me out through the two-foot hole he'd knocked the grate out of. Maybe, since I was going to be stuck here awhile longer - and quite possibly for the rest of my life - I should try and tone the back-talk and defiance down a bit. I was pretty overzealous with it, since it was the only defense I had against him.

Then again, if I didn't have back-talk or defiance, what the hell _did_ I have? Nothing, really. Without it I would be Synsen's obedient little ooman pet. Might as well just let him clip a leash on me and lead me around. I was into some kinky but that was taking things a little too far for my pride to tolerate. Plus, I had the sneaking suspicion that Synsen kinda dug my temper. There were limits to his tolerance for it and when I pushed it too far he would react, but in general he just let me roll with it. Already I'd learned that it was best to keep my tongue between my teeth when there were other ears to overhear, but outside of that it was pretty much game on until he flared up at me. Now that I'd been made wise to the fact that his bitch mask recorded everything, I could reasonably assume that while he might not understand everything I said when I say it he could probably find out in short order. Despite that he had yet to put me on notice that I should watch what I say; if anything, Synsen and I had settled into a sort of comfort level with each other, one where he got his way and I shot my mouth off on a regular basis, in an ever failing attempt to assert myself.

So, great. Now I just realized we're the bizarrely odd couple.

* * *

><p>It was probably less than an hour after I woke up that I was forced into a startled backpedal as Synsen barged abruptly into the room like he was on a mission. And clearly he was as he ignored me and moved through his quarters to the always-locked door to the room that contained the good stuff. I stood in the center of the main room and listened to the sound of him rooting around, and then he came back out with something in his hand, looked at me on his way back to the exit door, then diverted smoothly. I stood my ground, subconsciously straightening my posture, then I beeped as he reached out, grabbed the pelt I was wrapped in, and tugged it off me. It was caught on my hands – in my clenched fists, actually – and there was a secondary standoff until I let it go. One-handed, he carried it into the sleeping room and tossed it onto the bed as I followed, then he turned and gave me a growly chuff.<p>

"My other stuff's at the cleaners," I said meekly. He rumbled and cocked his head, a clear give-away that he had no idea what the hell I was saying. "So look, we gotta straighten some things out here," I said, soldiering on in an attempt to assert myself, lifting then holding my hand up. "That was funny back there, real funny. Tearing shit apart an inch from my face with those fucking knives and all, then the trick with the food. Okay so you got me back good, right? We're even now? Cuz I got the vibe and all that you were implying - whatareyoudoing?" I asked abruptly as he marched right at me. He came right up well into my personal space until his hard belly contacted my held-up palm. He stopped and rumbled, tusks shifting around his mouth as he stared down at me. I hesitated, then snatched my hand off him and went beet red.

"Hey! That's the kind of shit I'm talking about right there!" I barked. "Do you hear me? Do you even _listen_ to me? Why does nothing ever seem to compute with you?" Regrouping, I moved back a bit more, pointed to the floor around me and repeatedly drew an imaginary circle with a motion of my hand. "See this? This is my personal space, got it? You stay in yours and I stay in mine," I explained, lowering my tone to lessen my demand before Synsen decided to start getting pissy about my railing at him.

He watched my hand for a few seconds as I continued to draw my invisible circle, then he grunted and advanced right the hell into my personal comfort zone again, keeping coming and forcing me to have to back up. He didn't let up, staring down into my eyes and rumbling quietly, all the way across the room until my back hit the wall. Automatically, my hands came up palms-out to ward him off, coming to rest low on his hot belly as he pressed me back until my upper arms and elbows were wedged against the wall behind me. Then he finally stilled, staring down at me from above the shelf of his massive pectoral muscles, and one of his upper tusks rose slowly, then held. I sensed a sneer and decided there was an excellent chance that my attempt to draw a line and explain the concept of personal space had been understood and rejected. _Soundly_.

"Could've just said no," I mumbled, my heart tapping against my breastbone. He chuffed. That should have been the end of it but he stayed where he was, like he knew there was more and he was just waiting for me to get it out already. So, hell with it...

"And another thing, since I seem to be on a roll here; you said I'm Blooded now, right? So I should get my own room. I mean, I'm only in your way in here, and what with those other guys being gone and all..." I trailed off when I noticed that Synsen's deep-set eyes were becoming unusually large; that was never a good thing and always meant that his shit was getting stirred up. Just because I was learning to recognize his warning signs didn't always mean that I would back off, but in this particular case, with him pinning me bodily against the wall, I took the high road and finally shut up.

The silent standoff went on uncomfortably long before Synsen decided to finally ease back. He hesitated before breaking contact with my hands, raising his free one and brushing his knuckles over my marked cheek as he did. "Not now, Pet," he rumbled quietly. I blinked, staying frozen in place with my hands still up like he was holding a gun on me, and he turned and headed across the room.

"Wait, what?" I asked hoarsely, then unstuck myself from the wall and hurried after him. He was already halfway across the main room, and while I watched he left. There was a short click afterward that put me on notice that he'd locked the damned door again. "What an _ass_hole," I said, incredulous, then more quietly: "Fuck." He might be an asshole but who was the dumbass locked naked in his bedroom? "_Fuck_!"

* * *

><p>Hunting his pet in his ship's ventilation system had actually turned out to be highly entertaining. Synsen had spent considerable time trying to track her down and find her location; it had been a challenge because her scent had dispersed and been spread everywhere. It wasn't until she'd been moving along a duct lining a corridor that he'd finally located her, then stealthily listened to pinpoint her location. He'd seen the grate further along ahead of her line of travel and knew that there was a junction to another system of ducts above it, and that it meant he would have to act to cut her off unless he wanted to lose her again.<p>

It had surprised him when the slight sounds that indicated she was moving suddenly stopped. He hadn't made any noise to give himself away but he sensed that she was nonetheless aware of him somehow. He'd held still and waited with delicious, eager anticipation for her next move, and when he heard a barely audible sliding thump that warned she was on the move again, he'd struck, driving the blades of his ki'cti-pa into the duct just ahead of her to block her path and put her on notice. He froze and waited, and instead of calling out to him and surrendering her game, he was shocked to hear her sliding backward. He retracted his blades, swiftly sidestepped further down the corridor, every sense focused on the duct overhead, then he struck out with his left-handed ki'cti-pa to end her retreat. She stilled again as he waited to hear her submit, then she darted forward abruptly. He'd barely gotten to the grate in time to knock it aside and reach into the vent to snatch blindly at her, feeling her pull herself into the vertical shaft as he worked feverishly to widen the opening in the duct.

And when he finally regained custody of her she wasn't defeated, but irate. So enticingly _female_, and despite winning her challenge she apparently still wasn't convinced of his worth. He could only assume that among her own kind she'd enjoyed a very high rank; everything he'd read so far about ooman females taken by his kind indicated that they were meek and fearful. This then, was an excellent conquest for him as a yautja Arbitrator. Oomans had proven themselves to be a difficult and troublesome species for his kind; how fitting it was for him to take and claim one of their more aggressive and dominant females.

He'd taken her to where he'd set out food for her and was pleased as she agreeably began eating. He took some meat for himself while he bided his time and waited. The second time he made eye contact with her he could see that the sedative he'd put into her stew was kicking in. She didn't go down easily, though; she fought it the second she became aware of it. Yelling defiantly, even attempting to flee while it numbed her nervous system and relaxed her muscles. He'd given her the choice then, let her make the decision of what he should do with her, feeling a thrilled sense of victory when she maintained her right to life.

Since then he'd kept her locked in his quarters to let her sleep off the sedative and keep her waiting for him. Chi'kal-de had returned with his drop ship and the supplies and repair crew he'd requested, and he put them to work on fixing the mess he'd made of his ventilation system while he stored the supplies. His pet had been awake when he'd gone to his armory to retrieve a power cell, and she was wrapped again in the pelt when he had pointedly left her without hides to cover herself. She was back to asserting herself and defying him, ready to pick right up where they had left off. He had boldly initiated physical contact with her to test her, and her response had been to retreat from him and attempt to establish boundaries to refuse him the right. The next time he had advanced she had retreated until she no longer could before submitting and finally placing her hands on him.

By the time he returned to check on the status of the work crew, he was chafing for them to finish and be gone, his mind churning with anticipation. His pet's heat was coming upon her now, just beginning to ripen, and though her temptation wasn't as intolerable yet as he knew it would become, now he knew her secret. She wouldn't initiate a mating with him the way a yautja female would, with prior awareness of his successes and prowess, then a physical assessment followed by acceptance and challenge. She was not a seasonal breeder and as such she would choose a male to submit to, to challenge constantly, pushing him to initiate and prove his worth. If he challenged her she would submit; she had proven as much time and again. No doubt she was frustrated by his failure to follow through thus far, and doubtless the reason she'd shown interest in Ne'hemikta.

The work crew was just finishing up, leaving Synsen to do a system check while they installed recessed grates in his trophy room around the lip of the raised ceiling. He was aware of their amusement; they could smell his pet, and a few dared to shoot him careful looks above curved tusks. Clearly they didn't share Ne'hemikta's disapproval of the ooman female, despite the fact that they were able to ascertain the reason for the destruction of a portion of his ventilation system and the installation of security bars to block future access attempts.

A pressure test assured him that the system was properly sealed; in case of vermin in the ducts he had the ability to lock it down and vent them – and anything in them – into space. Such functionality had already come in handy once when he'd used it to evacuate an infestation of escaped kainde amedha parasites that had prematurely hatched en-route to a seeding ground and found their way into the ducts.

Later, Synsen joined Chi'kal-de and the others on the return trip to the clan ship, leaving his pet locked in his quarters. He'd left her adequate food and water with the intention of keeping her secured while he made his preparations, and there were issues he needed to take care of prior to leaving his clan for a long season of travel and hunting. He would meet with some Elders of his clan and speak personally to the one from the research division who had requested he hand his pet over to them. Perhaps he would be convinced to change his mind, but he doubted it. Not now, with her locked in his quarters, her heat on the way and her most recent invitation fresh in his mind.

* * *

><p>Synsen was gone for what felt like <em>days<em> following his cockamamie get-in-my-face routine. I was beginning to think he'd left me alone to die in his bedroom when I heard the familiar thump of a ship docking. By that time I'd eaten everything on the tray and drank all the water, now annoyed and not relieved that none of it had been drugged. At least if it had been garnished with that sedative I would have been unconscious for most of his absence, instead of being left to sit and stew over my fate.

It was possible, of course, that that had been his intention with locking me in here alone: punishment. He needn't have worried; it was for damn sure I wasn't going to try hiding in the ducts again. It had been worth a shot once but it was clear that it hadn't been a viable solution long-term. Now I was thinking about the drop ship, and the possibility I could not only get to it but figure out how to use it.

The locked door to his quarters clicked and slid open fairly shortly after I heard his ship return, and I stood there defiantly, full to bursting with nervous energy as he stepped in with a low, throbbing rumble, his head sweeping left to right before his attention settled and stuck to me.

First thing I noticed was that his amber-yellow gaze was unusually bright, gleaming vibrantly from beneath the spiny overhang of his brow as he stared steadily at me. It was a look that made me want to retreat but I steeled myself and glared back at him. He held a cup in each hand, and without a word of greeting or explanation, he extended one toward me. I came close enough to snap it up and shuffle back, desperately hoping it was water. It was, and I gulped a good amount of it down without taking a breath. The other he raised to his own mouth, mandibles spreading daintily as he tipped the cup over his sharp lower teeth and poured a small amount out.

I didn't say anything as he continued to assess me, then he gave it up and crossed the room to lift the cover on the platter, setting it back down when he saw I'd mowed through everything on the tray. It had honestly been a shitload of food and I wasn't particularly hungry right now, but even so, when it had run out I'd started quietly panicking about starving to death. I had a thing about eating; I happened to like it. A _lot_. And I had the hips and ass to prove it.

Synsen walked away and took himself on a tour of his rooms, probably to see if I'd torn anything up. It so happened that I hadn't gotten around to doing anything like that yet, though I'd been steadily getting to the point of thinking about it in the last few hours or so, when it started dawning on me that I might have been left alone to die on his ship.

He was here now, though, and I stood naked by the table, sipping down the rest of my water and already thinking I might need more. Naked didn't bother me all that much; I'd spent enough years in the military to overcome what little natural shyness I'd brought with me. I'd seen more than my fair share of tits and cocks, people showering and shitting, dressing and undressing. You sort of lose any hang-ups you might have had when you spend twenty-four-seven with other people, sharing everything, sleeping, eating, training, fighting and bathing together.

Plus, it clearly wasn't a big deal to Synsen, either. Had he been ogling my chest I might have made an attempt at modesty, but so far as I could tell he'd reserved his staring for my eyes. Honestly I was more afraid of him sizing up my skull than checking out my stuff. He'd seen it all already anyway, and more than once.

He returned to the main room where I was and set his cup down to slide his claw along a groove in the table. Buttons appeared, projected over its surface, and he deftly tapped at them with his claws. Screens popped up and yautja lettering scrolled, and like a maestro he rearranged their order with brisk movements, expanding this one, minimizing that one, shuffling it aside and opening another.

Holy crap, I was being ignored now. Getting the silent treatment. How fucking _annoying_.

"So I was thinking-" I announced. He paused and glanced at me and my train of thought went right the hell out the window now that I had his attention. It wasn't a mild look he was leveling on me. Hard to explain but I found myself riveted and staring back, unsure. There was a certain dangerous-feeling banked heat behind his gaze, similar to the look he'd had when he'd finished kicking Milo's ass. Like when he'd dragged me back into captivity and removed my military-issue clothing after killing two dozen soldiers. That sorta crazy look he'd sometimes get on the clan ship, all forked up about fighting or fucking or whatever set him off. There was calm laid-back Synsen, then there was _this_ Synsen. The one that felt dangerous, ready to pounce, to go off in a millisecond. It wasn't just the stare, it was the stillness and the tension I could feel radiating from him, like he was just barely vibrating, a bowstring pulled taut and held to the level of its utmost draw. "...yeah, never mind..." I mumbled feebly.

He rumbled quietly, a back-of-the-throat sound, then lifted his upper tusks and drew in a long, slow breath. His dreadlocks lifted ever so subtly as the gleam behind his gaze intensified. Something had happened to set him off and I had the feeling he was thinking about taking it out on me. It unnerved me and I lifted my chin slightly. _This is it_, I thought. We both knew he could do whatever he wanted, but I wasn't going down without a fight.

Now his eyes wandered, his ferocious gaze slipping slowly down my length and taking in details. I steeled myself to endure it, wondering what he was looking for. Evidence of guilt, maybe? A willingness to fight? A weakness to exploit? I knew now that he saw primarily in infrared, by heat, though with enough detail to discern features. His gaze settled for a moment somewhere around my midsection and I swear I could feel my skin heating under his stare. It crept back up until he met my eyes again, upper mandibles shifting, lower ones spreading out from the sides of his jaw slowly before easing back.

"Freaking me out," I admitted quietly. He blinked, a startling flash. The skin around his deep-set eyes was a flat black, making their natural backlit glow more intense. He grunted softly and kept staring. "Right about now I'm wondering where that knife is," I said levelly, staring back. Another blink then he was suddenly in motion, standing straight from his one-handed lean over the table before turning and walking out of the room. Still rigid, I stared after him, watching the door close behind him. I let out a breath and sagged a bit, then my eyes came to rest on his cup and I went and grabbed it. After slowly baking under that stare and steeling myself for a physical attack I was more parched than ever.

The cup wasn't filled with water. The potency of the brew it contained slapped me in the face and made my eyes water, then burned the inside of my mouth. It was like fire slipping down my throat and I coughed weakly as I felt it pool in my belly like liquid heat. "Whoah," I said hoarsely, then coughed again and helped myself to another sip. It was just what I needed right now after Synsen's intense weirdness. "Goddamn." It was more powerful than the moonshine I'd imbibed in at a former base, and I had been sure that shit had been nothing more than rubbing alcohol. If Synsen could drink this he probably had no sense of taste left.

I set the cup back where I'd found it and tapped my breastbone to try and quell the smoldering fire I could feel burning in my guts. Stuff was probably dissolving my insides. The holographic screens Synsen had called up were still there and I spent a moment amusing myself by moving them around and resizing them, then went back to my cup to get the last few drops of water out of it. The door hissed open and I wheeled around as Synsen marched back into the room, more intense than ever, and came right to the table next to me to slam something down with a loud banging slap.

The bowie knife.

My incredulous eyes stared at it, then unwillingly climbed to find Synsen standing there staring at me like he was calling me out and daring me to touch it. Ye gods, he was scaring more than ever before right about now. Seemed he was just looking for a reason to pummel the piss out of me.

Embarrassing to admit, but I was the type who rose to the occasion when it came to being challenged or dared. I couldn't help it; it was like compulsive with me. It was my nature to take risks and see how far I could push not only myself, but others. While on the one hand I was fully cognizant of the pull of the knife I was staring at, telling myself it was just more bait and another trap, on the other hand I couldn't resist. That part of me saw life as a game of strategy and had been well-suited to the military. There were bluffs and challenges, times to stand your ground and times when retreat was the wisest course. It was a matter of not only honing your skills and body but your mind as well.

I set the cup down and took a single step closer, then eased my arm up and slowly reached for the knife. He didn't move, not even to look away from my face. Moving slowly, I lifted it and unclipped the strap, then carefully started to slide the blade from the sheath. _Check and mate, bitch. I say knife and you step'n fetch it like a good boy. _I tossed the sheath onto the table and kept my eyes glued to his, baking under the intensity of his stare but feeling marginally more confident now that I had a weapon in my hands.

"They call this a Ka-Bar. Know why? Cuz like two hundred years ago some trapper wrote the manufacturer a letter about how he killed a bear with one. Only he was barely literate, so it was written out something like 'k a bar', and the company made it their name in his honor." Still Synsen hadn't moved a muscle. "Didn't kill _you_ though, did it? The one I jammed between your ribs was identical to this one." The blade was a matte black to reduce reflection, with a flat spine that I pressed my thumb against, over the rise, and rubbed nervously as my eyes skipped to the scar just below his left pectoral muscle.

My reminding him that I'd stabbed him was intentional, a thin hope that the memory would change his mind from either attempting to pummel or rape me. It seemed to work, too, since he still hadn't moved a muscle and just continued to stand there and stare at me. I, on the other hand, continued to stare at the scar, amazed at how small it was, wondering now how in hell the stab hadn't killed him. _Did he have no guts? Was there nothing but green goo and muscle all the way through him? _"Did it even_ hurt_?" I blurted.

Synsen's hand eased up and he took hold of my free one to touch my fingertips to the scar so I could feel the faint edges of the cut. His tough skin was hot and I was aware that he let his breath out in a low rumble that I could feel beneath my fingers.

"Sei-i," he growled quietly, confirming that yes, it did hurt. I dared to trace the thin parallel lines of the small scar side to side between his wide ribs, feeling the hard puckered edges left in his thick skin and the solid strength of the muscle beneath. "Have to try harder than that, Pet."

I looked up at him, seeing that some calm had returned to his gaze though it was still avid. His voice was a rumbling western drawl oozing with confidence and maybe a little mocking. Maybe I was misreading him; it was entirely possible, and something I did embarrassingly often. His tone was perfectly normal, despite the unusual heat in his eyes.

"Are you daring me to try it again?" I asked, frowning. "I fucked your hand up pretty good a few days ago," I reminded him. Distantly I was aware of settling the knife more comfortably in my left hand and getting a better grip on it, just in case.

He let go of my hand and showed me his palm; the slash already looked like it'd had a month's worth of time to heal. At its deepest it still showed raw and bright green, the edges turning to a darker crust. There was something covering it, some kind of shiny, clear medicine that filled the gash and surrounded the injury. "Can try a-ghen," he rumbled. Definitely daring me.

Intimidated, I dropped my gaze back to my right hand, resting my eyes on my fingers, still barely touching the old knife wound. Mottled stripes followed along the curves of his ribs from his back to his front, tapering and going lighter before disappearing and giving way to the sandier cream of his belly. The bullet holes had done a remarkable amount of healing and my hand wandered to curiously touch those, too, not feeling any pained reaction from Synsen that advised me to stop. Divots were gouged in his hide, some as deep as an inch but most shallower.

_Fucking Superman_, I thought distantly, taking in his wounds and scars. I had to admit I had at least a wee little bit of awe and admiration for him. Maybe if things were a little different and our situation a little friendlier, I would have liked to understand more about him. Except when amusing himself by obnoxiously teasing me he was aloof as hell, and I was sure that under his asshole exterior there was experience and wisdom and knowledge that would fascinate me. He _was_ an extraterrestrial, after all. Though I wouldn't readily admit it, what little I'd experienced of his world so far was mind-blowing and awesome...and quite honestly, so was he.

I wondered if any of my kind were aware of his, besides me. You shoot something, you expect to see it react. Shoot it a bunch, you expect to see it drop. While I had been there when he'd sustained this damage, I hadn't actually seen it happen. I knew, though, what the thoughts going through those soldiers' heads had been. The shock and disbelief that you'd engaged and made contact with no apparent effect or reaction. And as those thoughts were going through your head, it was already too late to do anything else about it because it was game over. We were taught to fire in controlled bursts, to conserve ammo. Those of us with experience knew that when you saw blood splattering from the midsection of a two-legged target, your job was pretty much done. Only thing left was to watch it fall and clean up the mess. Only Synsen didn't fall, and before it occurred to you to keep shooting you were already disarmed or dead. I'd been there, done that, didn't get the teeshirt cuz my captor preferred me to be boobs-out.

Synsen, I realized, was making that purring sound. It had started out quiet but was steadily building, a rhythmic, pulsing thrumming that was increasing in depth and volume and pace. Like an engine starting up in cold weather, sounding rough and forced at first before settling and smoothing. I blinked and flicked my eyes up to meet his steady stare, knowing from experience that the sound wasn't a threatening one. It confused me, though. Any purring that had been directed toward me so far had been a quick sound that had ended the moment I'd acknowledged it. Plus, I hadn't really heard much purring meant for me recently; in the early days of my captivity he'd used it to put an end to the worst of my spaz attacks, usually in conjunction with a restraining hold in an attempt to subdue me. I had taken everything as a threat in the beginning, before I'd settled more or less into my role as Synsen's pet ooman.

Swallowing thickly, I dropped my hand and stepped back, realizing I'd never really intentionally touched Synsen before and that I was crossing a line by doing so now. I was feeling very...out of sorts. And Synsen was behaving very out of character for him, what with standing there and letting me have my way with him. Usually contact between us was only during sparring or initiated by him in the course of his grabbing hold of me to direct me or to physically force my submission. This was..._weird_. Plus, I was holding a knife in my other hand, which made the fact that he was inviting me to touch him non-aggressively even more bizarre.

He stepped forward and I shied back instinctively, needing a little distance. He stepped to me again, insisting on looming, his sheer size a threat. I had a knife; who gave a shit? If I was god-awful lucky I might manage one stab or slash, but I already knew that wouldn't make any difference so what would be the point?

The purring continued, keeping me from panicking despite Synsen's odd behavior, adding to my confusion while at the same time assuring me that he wasn't threatening me even though he was all up in my business. "Totally weirding me out," I muttered, feeling crowded and extremely uncomfortable. That fucking _sound_ was starting to liquefy my brains, boring into my skull, invading my bones. It wasn't relaxed; it was _ardent _and mind-numbing, almost hypnotic. And then I realized when I'd last heard him making that sound, the memory accompanied by a rush of realization. He'd only ever purred with this level of intensity while in the company of She-Ra, the giantess whom he'd knocked off her feet and humped with gusto.

I abruptly galloped back and lifted the blade. "Cut it out!" Though my eyes flicked, he was wearing a loincloth. Then again, when the yautja female had approached him in front of me and gave him an appraising once-over, there had been no evident arousal then, either. Leave it to Synsen to have remarkable self-control, to the point where he was even capable of denying himself a hard-on until he was positive he was imminently scoring.

"Pet..." Synsen growled, not moving, "_submit_." He said it through the steady purring, like it was background music to his command. It stilled me because I _knew_ that tone; it was his don't-fuck-with-me voice. If I ignored it there was always an unpleasant follow-up to remind me who was boss, physical force to achieve what I wouldn't willingly do on command. "Scent is strong," Synsen said, speaking over the purr somehow, his gravelly voice slow and measured, each drawling word distinctly delivered on an exhalation of the breath he'd taken. "In heat."

At first I faltered and frowned, thinking _heat_..._temperature_. Of course it was hot in here; yautja thrived in heat. It bordered on too uncomfortably hot for my blood and I tended to sweat a bit, so maybe he was trying to tell me I stank. I probably hadn't had a bath in twelve hours and I knew he was sensitive to my scent. Then I put the pieces together, adding the pronoun 'you' to his words: _Your scent is strong; you are in heat_.

"Synsen fix," he continued, then stepped toward me with ponderous warning, starting to bristle as his hands closed into fists.

"No-no-no, no fixing," I said, scrambling back to put more room between us. The fucking exit door didn't open; he'd locked it. Shit, I was trapped. "_Stop_!" I barked, then was amazed when he did. The purr faltered and quieted but didn't cease, though his ominous advance had ground to a halt. I let out the panicked breath I'd taken and sagged a bit in relief, thinking that so long as I had the knife he wasn't _fixing_ anything.

I shouldn't have let my guard down. Stupid of me, really, since I of all people should have known better than that. Hadn't I just been thinking, in not exactly the same terms, of simply how unprepared my kind were when it came to dealing with Synsen's kind? How, if we have any opportunity for advantage we should take it and press it to its fullest potential. Keep shooting until you either run out of ammo or there's nothing left of the yautja but a greasy green smear. Assume nothing from any appearance of damage or surrender on the part of the yautja, and never, _ever_ be fooled by anything that remotely approached hesitation on their part. It's just a ruse to draw you in, to get you to lower your guard. To turn the advantage back to themselves and take it away from you.

By the time I'd registered Synsen's charge it was already light-years too late for me. He hit me like a tidal wave, one second powering up at me from fifteen feet away, the next second turning me and slamming me up against the closed exit door. The knife was still in my hand but now my hand was in his, and the blade was pressed against my throat. If his intention had been to kill me I'd already be dead. Truth was, though I was stunned I didn't think he'd even hurt me.

The purr was more subdued but still there, and as Synsen went still I took inventory, feeling like a bomb had just detonated in my face. It was the exit door, not a bomb, and while it hadn't gone off in my face I was reasonably certain Synsen could have put me through it bodily if that had been his intent. The body-to-body impact of almost four hundred pounds of yautja launching at a hundred forty pounds of human had been offset by said yautja's startling ability to drag me into his momentum while turning, manipulating and positioning me prior to contact with the metal door, all within a fraction of a second. End result: me kissing the door and held solidly against it pretty much from head to toe, the massive arms Synsen had wrapped around me having taken the full brunt of impact and cushioning me enough that I only felt startled and breathless.

"Pet says h'ko to Synsen?" he rumbled quietly to the top and back of my head, following it with a quiet, slowly rising trill of inquiry that gradually trailed off. It gave me chills as I interpreted the question and the way he'd asked it as not only heavily loaded, but filled with delicious anticipation.

"No...yes...?" I mumbled dizzily, wondering what the hell was the right answer to that question. "Maybe no, I think. Ouch." The last word coming out of me even surprised me, like it was a delayed response to what had just happened. Synsen shifted back a fraction of an inch, just enough to give me a bit more air to breathe. Regardless, it was still saturated with his heat and musk; he was coiled around me like a python, his rough hide dry and hot. If anyone had asked, I would have said this was pretty much the last place in the known universe I would wish to be.

The purr switched gears and seemed to move lower as Navassa's jungle god huffed quietly into my hair, keeping the knife pressed firmly to my throat. This close to him it became sensation as much as sound, like leaning against the hood of an idling Humvee, all eight cylinders tapping in a steady, mesmerizing rhythm, the exhaust gurgling in time, the heat from the engine radiating outward onto the metal skin and baking it, everything blending together to become soothing and hypnotic enough to put you to sleep. The purr thrummed through his body and into mine, a steady vibration that seemed to not tax him in any way, or require any conscious effort on his part like a growl did. That sound came from the throat; this sound came from somewhere else, something not connected to his breathing.

I was paying close attention to the knife, keeping my focus there while aware that there was something far more subtle at work here. Didn't seem like punishment. Wasn't a spar. Not even, apparently, an attempt to teach me a lesson or put me in my place.

I sagged a bit, unable to continue maintaining a maximum level of tension and terror during what felt like a standoff. Shouldn't have been a standoff; I would readily concede that Synsen, as usual, had won this round, but as he was holding me pinned I couldn't concede a damn thing.

The purr's rhythm and modulation changed again, and Synsen rumbled, "N'got, Pet."

_Good?_ I scowled. No idea what the hell he was talking about. But if he was happy, I was happy, it was just as simple a thing as that. I grunted tightly, still kept pressed to the door and trying to send a hint: _If I'm so good then back off, crab face_. He always had been consistent in his version of training me, and instant gratification had been my reward. Do something stupid and he'll make it hurt; stop doing it and the pain goes away. Granted, he wasn't hurting me, but I was getting mighty tired of french-kissing the door.

Just as I thought that he started to ease back. Not abruptly like he was satisfied his point had been driven home and the misunderstanding had been resolved, no. More like he wasn't done with me yet and his focus was still one hundred percent on me.

"N'got," he rumbled, as I warily stayed still. The knife was still against my neck; that fucking thing wasn't going anywhere for the time being so neither was I. I wanted to put it up against his throat and see how he liked it. Synsen unstuck himself from me, an almost delicate and careful backing off like _I_ was the dangerous one here, not him. He was still thrumming steadily, not so ardently as before, a constant, droning sound that I would swear was doing something to me. For sure it was interfering with my ability to think beyond a surface level, and I was fairly certain it was slowly turning my limbs to jelly.

In the shock of being charged, flattened, held at bay with the knife in my own hand and purred into docility, I'd forgotten that Synsen had another hand...until it moved. My breath caught and held in surprise as the hot clamp over my left hip loosened and swiveled as he flattened his hand until it was rotated fingers-down. It drew upward slowly along my flank, over my lower ribs, the tips of his claws trailing lightly, just barely making contact with my skin.

Apparently Synsen was unaware of how ticklish the ribs could be, and he grunted like a gunshot when I surged up onto my toes in reaction and unintentionally banged the top of my head beneath his lowered jaw. _Hard_. My reaction had startled him, never a good thing when you're talking about a yautja, even worse when said yautja is already aggravated and holding a knife against your throat.

I don't know who was more hurt by the encounter, but I do know who was more capable of acting out their displeasure, and that wouldn't be me. Synsen grunted sharply when my crown connected with his jaw and mandibles, then he jammed me hard enough against the door with a press of his massively heavy body to squeeze the breath from my lungs. For a second there I saw stars, then I choked and gasped greedily at the air, unable to miss the fact that it was strongly perfumed with Eau-de-Synsen.

Knife and yautja mercifully backed off and I slumped to the floor, my breaths sawing and my heart racing. With each successfully indrawn breath, my temper was rising, though for the moment my body was struggling mightily with the low level of oxygen in the air and my increased need for it. Synsen's low chittering came to my ears as I gradually re-booted and staved off unconsciousness. Despite his vocalization he kept his hands off me and left me alone to recover. Maybe he was satisfied he'd made whatever brutal point he'd intended to make. Perhaps this was my punishment for setting him off enough to drive him to carve up his own shit in his attempt to regain custody of me. I almost hoped that was the case, because it was so much better than thinking that this might just be considered foreplay to him.

I shifted to get my limbs in order and gathered them up, then I used the door to keep my balance as I forced myself to my feet, turning as I shakily rose. Synsen, I now saw, had crouched over me, and as I stood his terrifying face and eyes moved to follow me. He remained otherwise still as I braced myself against the door and glared slightly down at him, still panting in an effort to recover from the violent and aggressive turn of events.

My temper was still very much there, and emboldened by his stillness. I wanted to say stupid things, like that I wished I'd killed him on Navassa Island, or that he had killed me. That I wished I'd left him penned up like a big ol' greenish pig in a slaughterhouse, subject to the whim and will of my own kind. Shoulda, coulda, woulda...none of it would change the fact that none of those things had happened. Fact was, _this_ was my reality now, and - like it or not - I was completely at his mercy. Partly because of my own decisions and actions, even. And though clearly he could kill me with apparent ease, he was choosing not to. Going so far, in his own weird way, of giving me the means to kill him in order to more firmly establish my acceptance that I couldn't.

The knife was gone. I didn't know what he'd done with it, but it was no longer in either of his hands. Still glaring, I wondered what that meant. Not that it mattered, since he was always armed with those damned claws of his. The purring had ceased, too, leaving us quietly regarding each other.

Something beeped and I flinched, seeing the way his thick, fleshy tresses reacted to either the sound or my movement by flaring a bit. He grunted, then rose smoothly and turned to cross the room and go to the table. He slid a claw, tapped a few projected buttons, then a large image blazed above the table, three dimensional and blobby to my eyes. When he proceeded to have a conversation with it I could intelligently assume that it was one of his kind, and that the image must be projected in a way that best suited his vision, by heat maybe. At one point he turned and leveled an inscrutable glance my way, firing off a grunt in my general direction as he turned back. It made me wonder if the other one could see the room and asked about me, cowering by the door like a beaten dog.

At that thought I finished the interrupted process of gathering myself up and regaining the scraps of dignity that remained to me. I was relieved to discover that I was capable of standing without the assistance and support of the door, and I waited a moment before stepping away from it. The cadence of Synsen's speech was tense and more clipped sounding than usual, then he turned again to face me.

"Pet," Synsen rumbled, "come."

_Now what?_ I set my spine and eased closer to him and the amorphous giant-headed blob. It was comprised of shifting, bright colors that flowed one into the other, but as I got closer I could make out details. Ropey yautja hairs that showed red at the scalp, gradually morphing through a bright rainbow that didn't follow down their length but was more according to their distance from his head. His eyes gleamed a creepy scarlet, his tusks an orange-yellow.

The three dimensional blob shifted, arm extending, then the image scrambled several times, changing subtly each time before settling on a sort of greasy-looking but much more easily discernible yautja to my eyes. Like the camera on his end was slightly out of focus and the lens was dirty. His hand came up and pushed and I watched a pan of part of the room, then gasped and stormed closer at the sight of caged men. They were further from the camera, their features indistinct, and from their behavior they were not even aware that they were being watched. One was sitting upright in a corner, arms crossed, hands tucked into his armpits, his head lolling in a way that indicated he was napping. Another was pacing the length of the bars as if searching for a weakness. Two were talking, and one was sitting with his back to the bars on the far side of the cage, knees bent in front of him and arms extended atop them. All were clothed yautja-style, though in loincloths far more simple than my captor's.

"Pet," Synsen said, almost a sigh, "want ooman male?" he trilled.

"No way, where is this?" I demanded, finally snapping my mouth shut. "This is...you have them? Like me? Pets?"

"On clan ship," Synsen answered. "H'ko."

I took in his words, still staring at the caged men. I took his 'no' as an answer to my every question, except for the information that they were on the clan ship. Not like me, not pets. They had each other's company but they were kept confined.

"What would I want one for?" I asked, suspicious. Synsen's chuff was mocking and disgusted enough to earn him an Oscar.

"To mate."

"To _what_!" I said stupidly, and tore my eyes off them to look at him. He stared back at me, his gaze still unnaturally heated by the apparently aggressive emotional state he'd brought here with him. It warned me that we weren't done here, with whatever the interrupted altercation we'd been having was about.

"What if I say yes?" I wanted to know. He blinked his molten eyes slowly, then his dreadlocks performed a slow climb, enough to increase his height by a few inches.

"No more Synsen Pet," he rumbled.

For a second there I was gaping again. How could this be? An answer to my prayers, and just in the nick of time, too! Then I snapped my mouth shut and looked back at the men, either forlorn and still or restlessly pacing inside the confines of their shared cage. _Maybe not an answer to prayer_, my mind whispered. _Maybe worse_.

"And what if I say no?" I asked, my tone much more subdued.

He chuffed, but it was lacking its usual gusto. "Pet choose Synsen."

I heard what had been left unsaid, and paled: ..._to mate_. The other yautja on the opposite side of the connection was grunting and clicking, but Synsen continued to stare piercingly at me and apparently ignored him. "So either I go there and stay with them, or I stay here with you?" I asked, my voice small. The other yautja barked, then uttered a low growl as I rudely spoke over him. Synsen, I saw, lifted his eyes from me to look beyond me, his lower mandibles spreading slightly as he returned a growl of his own.

I blinked. _Was he standing up for me?_ I couldn't help but wonder. Sure seemed that way. Keeping firm to that line he'd himself drawn, that the only one allowed to give me shit was him.

When the other made no audible reply to Synsen's growl, he lowered his attention back to me and said, "Sei-i. Choose."

"Is this...is this like a one-time thing or are we talking permanent here?" I wanted to know, struggling a bit to get the words out as my mind spun in circles and my uncertainty pained me. First things first, I needed to know all the options, all the details, before I could make a decision.

"Pet..." Synsen rumbled, lowering his chin then deepening his tone for the final word, "_choose_."

Like he was really going to sit down and talk it out with me, maybe get me a pen and paper and help me list out the pros and cons of each option. I glanced again at the three dimensional image but it was back in yautja-vision mode, and no longer focused on the five men. The other was back, observing and staying quiet. Clearly I hadn't endeared myself to him, what with cutting him off mid-sentence to ask a clarifying question. I could only imagine that choosing to be with my own kind would mean I would join them in that cage and be watched over by this other, and my initial excitement at the thought of having human conversation with fellow human beings waned; for all I knew, none of them spoke english. Besides, conversation might not be part of the deal. For all I knew, I would be chucked in there naked with five half-crazed savages fighting over me. This was a hell of a thing to be asked to decide.

The other said something and Synsen reacted angrily, flaring his tresses and his mandibles and issuing a sharp, authoritative bark. The other rumbled quietly but subsided, and I flinched in response to the harsh, aggressive sound even though it hadn't been directed at or meant for me.

Synsen was a terrifying beast, but...but compared to those men, I was kept free-range. Allowed access to food and drink, given a bed to sleep in, a giant hot tub and shower to bathe in, allowed to wander around. Brought along on excursions and though terrorized by the strange and dangerous, protected diligently. As far as I could tell, this other one didn't speak my language, and though those men were obviously taken care of, fed and bathed and whatever else, they looked miserable. More miserable than me, I mean. I could only assume that whatever decision I made, it would be permanent, and despite my eagerness to be with my own kind and out of Synsen's clutches, those two desires weren't enough to make me choose life in a cage over life with him.

A thought struck me and sucked the breath from me, the realization that as the only female in their ooman menagerie, I would be watched over carefully and probably not even permitted near the males. There would be no safety for me in choosing to leave Synsen to join them, and reality was it would probably be horrific for me. As tense as things were right now between me and my captor, except for some small scratches on my leg I was completely uninjured despite Synsen's breathtaking amount of aggression and power. He'd proven that while he wasn't above knocking me around a bit, he wasn't out to really damage or injure me. I didn't have that same guarantee from the other one. And no doubt the plans the other had for me had something to do with the simple fact that I was female and he happened to be in possession of five males.

"I'll stay," I said, the second I thought that.

Synsen grunted, then lifted his attention from me to look at the projected image of the other. He said something in his garbled language as he gestured toward me, then he leaned forward and tapped a floating button. The projection fizzled out and disappeared. That was it, then. My choice had been made and communicated and the bizarre interruption was over.

"What the hell was that about?" I demanded, as Synsen returned his attention to me with a low, gravelly rumble in his throat.

"Clan has male oomans. Need female," he said simply.

"Uh huh." We stared at each other and I narrowed my eyes. "The first time you knocked me down," I said, "and tore through my clothes...what would have happened if I hadn't been female?"

He huffed and flared slightly. "Kill," he said simply.

I nodded slowly. "And what did you want a human female for?" I asked next. He stared back, unmoving.

I was the first one to blink. Still no answer, the silence dragging out long enough to put me on notice that no response would be forthcoming, leaving it to me to draw my own conclusions. Damnit, sometimes I _hated_ when I was right.

I shifted on my feet and didn't miss the slight widening of Synsen's eyes, the steady dilation of his pupils, the twitch of his upper mandibles. "Stop that," I said quietly, "I'm not going to run." No point in trying, after all, and with his current intent focus I doubted I'd get further than rocking my weight to take the first step. "I've seen you..._mating..._" I continued with distaste, hesitating since I was about to say _fucking_. "You'd break both my arms then kill me if you tried that shit with me."

He grunted, still staring intently but at the very least acknowledging the fact that I'd spoken. He finally blinked, then drew in a slow quiet breath that seemed to gather him back together and scatter some of that feral intensity. "Not."

I scowled, unsure if he'd just said what I thought he'd said, and if so, what the hell it was supposed to mean. _Not_ as in _no_? And _no_ as in: No, I won't fuck you; or: No, I won't break your arms and kill you in the process?

He moved then, striding past me, and I turned to watch him go to a wall and open a recessed cabinet. He removed a tall jug from inside it and carried it to the table, tipping it over the two goblets he'd originally brought when he'd come into the room. Setting the jug down he lifted the goblets, then held one out to me.

"What is it?" I asked warily. He said nothing, still holding the one cup out as he raised the other to his mouth and drank. I gave in, figuring it wasn't worth a battle of wills since whatever he'd poured into the goblet he was offering me was the same thing he was drinking himself. Easing closer, I took the goblet from him and raised it to my face, wrinkling my nose at the sharp scent of liquor. Good. I could use an adult beverage right about now.

I took a tiny sip and held it on my tongue to taste it before swallowing, expecting for a moment the shocking burn of alcohol I'd experienced when I'd tried what had been in his goblet before. This was thicker; syrupy, really. It tingled pleasantly and created a sensation of warmth in my mouth, then down my throat and into my belly as I swallowed it. Emboldened, I took a deeper sip, hearing Synsen's rumble as I gulped it down.

When I drained half the goblet, Synsen wordlessly lifted the jug and replenished my share without asking, otherwise staying still and watching me. He didn't refill his own goblet, choosing instead to rock it idly after setting the jug back on the table. There was that beeping sound again, another incoming call, and he ignored it. When it continued to the point of becoming irritatingly insistent, he shifted his position to tap at something on the table and silence it, then returned his undivided attention to me. It occurred to me then that we weren't done here, and I sensed expectation. All kidding aside now, the preliminaries and formalities over. All this time I had been assessed, and the end result was that Synsen apparently wanted to keep me. The last step had been my decision, to choose either here or there. I had made the obvious choice in my mind, to stick with the known and familiar instead of rolling the dice.

Hastily, I lifted the goblet in my hand and slurped.


	9. Chapter 9

I believe I've made it amply clear in the preceding 8 chapters that this a Mature-rated story, but the prevalence of attorneys in this country makes me paranoid so I'm doing it again. Also pointing out that while the story and characters are mine, I don't own the concept of Predator, and I am making zippo on this naughty little hobby. Love you guys!

* * *

><p>The head of the Research Division was trying again, refusing to give up, but Synsen was finished with dealing with him, satisfied that his pet had given them both her answer. Let them pester another to relinquish custody of his ooman female pet. He'd held up his part of the agreement he had made when he'd visited the lab on the clan ship, to allow his pet to see the ooman males for herself, and make her own decision whether she preferred their company over his.<p>

He turned from blocking incoming transmissions to study her again, pleased that she seemed to have settled down. He had not intended the altercation that had occurred prior to the scientist's call, and now he mulled it over as he sipped his liquor. Clearly he had underestimated his own self-control when put to the test by his pet's scent of estrus; in retrospect he had behaved too aggressively when she refused him. He had calmed considerably since, flush with success that in spite of his behavior, she still chose him over her own kind.

Now he was trying one of the tactics he'd read in the journals: alcohol. He was being careful to only partake lightly himself, not wishing to take the chance of relinquishing the already tenuous hold he was struggling to maintain over his instincts. He did not expect much for the first time he bred her, only that she lower her level of defiance and relax enough to allow him to keep his wits about him instead of pricking his aggression. If he could successfully mount her he didn't doubt that he would finish quickly, and hopefully gently enough to lessen her irritating refusal for the next time.

"Will not break arms," he said now, and didn't miss his pet's flinch, followed by her direct, assessing stare. She blinked after a moment, then her fleshy lips parted and she bared her teeth at him, a reaction that in the past had caused him to discipline her. Now, however, he remembered that it wasn't necessarily a sign of aggression, though he was still wary of the behavior as it indicated heightened emotion.

"Thanks for that, at least," she said, keeping her teeth bared up at him. Her skin, he noticed, was flushed, the alcohol raising the blood just beneath the surface and causing her to glow enticingly in his vision. He lifted his mandibles and sent her a throaty purr without thinking, an instinctive invitation in reaction to a female in season showing an interest in him. She recovered her teeth and furrowed her brow, still staring at him, and her failure to either return the purr or look away with disinterest reminded him that he wasn't dealing with a yautja female. "I notice you didn't say anything about not killing me, though," she said, her tone lower.

He blinked, breaking off their stare as he looked away and chuffed quietly, then raised his goblet to his mouth. Killing her right now was the furthest thing from his mind, and he was unsure why she should bring it up in tandem with mating. Instead of letting the thought aggravate him, he dwelt instead on the victorious fact that he alone was worth more to her than five males of her own kind. She could continue challenging him all she wanted, provided she kept drinking; he would simply force himself to stillness and wait, letting the alcohol take affect. For now he drew in a quiet breath, reveling in her scent and swelling his chest with a deep draught of it. He could taste it in his mouth, feel it create a surge of warm arousal, and refused to allow himself to look at her in order to maintain his self control.

The tactic worked; shifting his direct attention off of his pet served to help him calm himself, and after a short time he was aware of her posture easing more as she calmed as well. To occupy himself, he dwelt on her defiant challenge, then her perplexing behavior in response to his answering it. He'd gotten the knife at her request and for a short time it seemed to calm her. He was aware from his research and reading through the sealed records that her kind did not respond favorably to the roughness and aggression that a female yautja required, and for a moment that seemed to be true for her as well. Then suddenly she had snapped back and raised the knife at him, and when she did that, all his self-control and ordered thoughts were lost as he reacted to the challenge and threat instinctively. Swiftly subdued and restrained, she'd calmed, then just as quickly she'd struck out again when he'd attempted to stroke her.

He growled quietly then shook his head briskly in irritation, shifting his lower mandibles, still aching from the abrupt contact with the top of her hard skull. None of the females written of in the sealed records had been warriors; perhaps that was the issue here. It could be that she was of a much higher rank, and therefore had higher expectations for a breeding partner. Unlike them, she was bold and fierce. He considered that he could not be gentle with her, that he must behave decisively and firmly.

"So, killing is still on the table, I take it?" she asked, her tone rougher. Synsen glanced at the nearby table surface automatically, on the one hand puzzling over her words, on the other hand suddenly made aware that it was waist-high and therefore might be the perfect place to introduce his pet to her new role.

"On tay-bull. Sei-i," he rumbled agreeably, warming up to the idea. She stiffened, back to staring at him. He was aware of it but refused to look back at her, predatorily conscious that a direct stare would alarm her. After a moment she blinked, then tilted her cup and looked into it.

"You're an asshole. You know that?" she asked her drink.

"Sei-i," he agreed to the second question, knowing the word and that it was an insult, but unintentionally missing the part where she was informing him he was one. He was, after all, only vaguely paying attention to her, determined not to let her rile him up again while mentally trying to solve the riddle of how to gain her acceptance. On the one hand, she was his pet, his property. On the other hand, she was a female in ripe condition for a good pauking, and his honor and station first and foremost demanded that he conduct himself with the utmost integrity.

His pet looked at him again as he maintained his sideways vigil, then she snorted. "So, what now? Should I just get on the table and get it over with, asshole?"

At that, he finally turned his head and looked at her. She stood her ground and stared back at him defiantly. "Sei-i," he growled, starting a slow, dangerous burn between annoyance and arousal again, this time catching the name she'd called him.

"Well shit," she said, inexplicably. "I didn't ask to be here, you know. It's not my fault you trashed your stuff. If you'd just let me go when I asked nicely, this all..." She trailed off to blessed silence in the midst of motioning indirectly with her goblet, then huffed. "Shit."

Synsen eyed his pet, sensing surrender. He waited, held in tension. The records had only contained the one Arbitrator's account; most of the others had been recorded by badBloods, with a smattering of other warriors whose females had willingly served as _lou-dte kale_ in exchange for their protection and keeping. Part of him expected his pet to behave appropriately, to show submission. Even, he hoped, to take the initiative, now that she'd made her decision and understood without question what was expected of her. He was not a badBlood and was determined not to sink to their level, using force to earn her submission. Unless, perhaps, force was what she required of him for a mating? He rumbled tensely, still unsure.

"Shit," she said again.

He dared to switch his eyes and look at her from their corners. "C'jit, sei-i," he rumbled. She stiffened and stared at him.

"Why're you agreeing with me?" she demanded. "You don't have to do this, you know. We were rolling along just fine before you decided to go and get freaky on me. Go back to the other ship and get laid."

Synsen chuffed quietly, grasping the point of her suggestion though he hadn't understood the terms. "Mating season over."

His pet blinked out of her direct glare, then furrowed her brows. "Okay..."

"You in heat."

Her rigidity increased. "I'm not in _heat_. Humans don't do that." He rumbled, then gaped and huffed pointedly, drawing her scent in. She colored visibly, her reaction to his bold demonstration heightening his arousal. Since she didn't object, he huffed again, more slowly this time, indulging himself. She was emitting a formidable bouquet, different than a yautja female's heat scent but just as compelling. Sweeter, lighter, softer, but somehow just as potent and alluring; it was no wonder that his kind had taken notice. "Stop," she said quietly. "I don't feel like being charged again."

Synsen considered her words, pleased that though they were defiant, her tone wasn't. "If Synsen pet will only submit to pain, Synsen will give Pet pain," he offered.

She jerked back sharply and he checked the urge to pursue, though if she attempted to put anymore distance between them, he would. Her mouth opened as if she was about to speak, then closed slowly. She blinked through her stare, a bit rapidly at first before subsiding, then she scowled and looked away. Though part of him was chafing at how long it was taking him to gain her acceptance, he focused more on the part of him that had steeled itself with predatory patience and settled in to wait her out. There was no hurry. No chance of another male interrupting and possibly gaining her attention. He would leave it to her to indicate how she wished to be taken, keeping his honor intact no matter the outcome.

* * *

><p><em>Hoooleee crap<em>. I shifted my stance nervously, my belly flipping out as Synsen borderline threatened me in the course of propositioning me. The intensity, the gleam in his eyes, all that made sense now. And the knife, shit, apparently that little game _had_ been foreplay.

_What to do, what to do_, my brain chanted, sending my eyes darting frantically all over the place as I searched for an out. They settled on the doorway to the bathing room and my bladder informed me that I needed to pee. My brain tagged the request as urgent, escalating its level of importance right up the chain of command, bypassing any thought process and going right to my mouth. "I gotta..." I heard myself saying, as my right arm lifted and lamely motioned at the door, "...before..."

The intensity of Synsen's stare tripled, then he grunted and looked away. I took that for permission and downright scampered, cup in hand, for the potty. My thoughts were in an uproar over my mouth's tacking on that last vague word and demanding clarification.

_Before I explode_, I thought, climbing onto the huge commode.

_That's not how __**he**__ took it_, the next thought informed me.

_Alcohol, stat,_ my brain informed my hand, and my hand automatically lifted the cup to my mouth. I emptied it as I emptied my bladder, then thought about asking Synsen for more, enough that maybe I would black out. Something advised me that he wouldn't go for that; oh no, the sadistic bastard would want me awake and aware for what he had in mind, and if I managed to drink myself unconscious he would probably hold off and wait until I came back around.

Peeing finished, I dithered around a moment before my eyes settled next on the hot tub. _Dive! Dive! Dive!_ my brain chanted like the PA system on a submarine. _Brilliant_! If it's my smell that's setting Synsen off then the logical thing to do was bathe, maybe tone it down or eliminate it altogether. Without hesitation, I set the empty goblet on the edge of the tub and slid into the hot water, then dipped beneath the surface for as long as I could hold my breath. And when I came back up for air, the first thing I saw was that I had company.

Synsen studied me a moment and I sank in the water to my chin. His gaze was still molten but I didn't know if that was just a continuation of his intensity, or if it meant he was now angry. He stepped closer to the edge of the small pool, sipped from his goblet, then tugged his loincloth off with his free hand. It came undone, slithering around his narrow waist and thick thighs as he pulled it, then he turned away and carried it off to the wall panel that led to the dirty clothes bin. He set his goblet on the surface nearby, then strolled to the steps and came into the tub.

_I'm going to throw up_, my stomach announced, panicking, and I swallowed thickly and adamantly told it off.

_Just calm down_. Goddamnit, the alcohol was making itself known and taking over now...fuck it. I held still as Synsen approached, figuring he couldn't get me in a face-down ass-up position in the water so I was safe for the time being. Despite his continued intensity he was moving at a leisurely pace, gliding closer through water that was chest-deep for him and pushing a pressure wave in front of him. I allowed it to move me back from him a bit, bobbing as I lifted my feet off the bottom. He sidestepped his last stride and moved behind me, and in response I immediately braced myself, then felt a touch on the top of my head. I stiffened as he held the contact, huffing, then he exhaled in a warm rumble and said the last thing I'd expected to hear.

"N'got, pet."

I blinked and actually felt relief. Bad news: he still liked whatever it was he could smell, so the soak hadn't worked. Good news: he wasn't pissed at my impromptu decision to take a dip. There wasn't enough alcohol in the ship to make me forget his ominous words that advised me he wasn't above hurting me if that was the only thing I would respond to. And damn him, he did have a valid point: I _did_ submit to any application of pain, usually pretty damned quickly. Synsen was particularly adept at knowing exactly how and where to hurt me to force my compliance. Question was, did I intend to go along with this or would he be compelled to hurt me to get his way? I honestly still wasn't sure.

He kept his toothy, tusky mouth pressed firmly to the top of my head, breathing roughly on me. While it wasn't doing anything for me, I had a bad feeling it was doing something for him. Clearly his sense of smell ranked pretty highly in importance and had the ability to cause a reaction in him. He rumbled again, a long sustained sound that was joined by a building purr, then faded out and was replaced by it.

Damnit, that _sound_ again. And its impact was maximized by the numbing of the alcohol in my system. _Must be his sexy get-it-on sound_, I thought, then giggled softly. Most men had a fairly obvious come-on voice; Synsen had a whole separation vocalization for this particular mood. It tripped up a pace and I watched the concentric rings that the vibrating baritone formed in the water around us, expanding and pushed outward by each successive thrum. Then there was another disturbance, the silky glide of the water being stirred behind me, and I went rigid as Synsen's huge hands closed on either side of my ribs. He closed his hands until I jerked, then immediately loosened his grip and refastened it lower, around my waist. Another steadily building squeeze between his thumbs and fingers until I objected, then he moved lower, to my hips. There the squeeze wasn't so objectionable and he let out a rumble as he gripped tightly then eased off. I let out the breath I'd been holding, easy at first but then huffing as it occurred to me what he'd been doing: testing handholds.

_Why you calculating sonuva-_ I was thinking as I started to move away from him, but his hands closed around my upper arms, just above the bends of my elbows. He lifted just a bit, enough to bring me to a jarring halt as I winced at what felt like a squirt of acid inside my left shoulder joint. Thing was still pissed off about being dislocated, and warning me that it wouldn't have much tolerance for being messed around with. I stamped like an irritated horse, then gave in and backed up. Synsen's grip loosened in reward as he let my elbows down, his purr strengthening against my back.

* * *

><p>His purr thrumming an instinctive, ancient tune, Synsen held still and gloried in momentary conquest. That faded as he puzzled again over how, exactly, oomans mated. Did they prefer to couple in the water, and that was the reason he'd found her here? The thought honestly didn't thrill him, but then he remembered there'd been no mention of aquatic matings in any of the records he'd so painstakingly pored over. The badBloods had taken their female captives in whatever way they'd personally preferred, and the Arbitrator had been mute on the details, but had made it clear that his female had initiated and taught him what she preferred.<p>

With that thought in mind, he settled in to wait, maintaining his steady purr and confident that the next move would be made by his pet. He had already calculated to find the optimal place to hold her, around the delicious swells of her hips. Her flesh yielded beneath his hands, so different than a yautja female. Everything was similar, but different, and that only added to her exotic allure. Hair instead of tresses, soft smooth skin instead of thick hide, a comparatively diminutive size and a total lack of natural defenses. He would never dare to be this bold with his own kind's females, nor would they allow him to. The anticipation of what was to come only increased his lust, though he showed his pet his respect for her status as female by waiting while she prepared herself before indicating he could proceed.

He amused himself by toying with the strands of her hair, deftly twisting them around his tusks with slight, precise movements of his mandibles, drawing the perfume of her condition in with every inhalation. Her hairs weren't nearly as sensitive as his fleshy tendrils, and made for an excellent handhold to gain not only control of her head, but her full attention.

"You're tying knots in my rat's nest," she said, her tone flat, "and I'm starting to pickle."

He stilled, but despite his best efforts the only words he understood were you, my and I'm. Her tone spoke volumes, though, and told him she was ready to move on. Reluctant to lose possession of her now that he had her in hand and subdued, he grunted and squeezed her arms, then started forward toward the steps. She moved willingly, though her attempts to tug her arms free of his loose grip didn't escape his notice. Instinct made him tighten his grip momentarily, then he regained self control and let her go. She wasn't a yautja female, capable of turning and doling out damaging punishment for his carelessness. If she chose to run it would only invigorate him, and with the door to his quarters securely locked her freedom was limited.

Pleased with himself and still resolutely determined to let his pet determine the pace of their mating, Synsen trailed her up the steps, then briskly shook himself off as she took the time to dry herself with a hide. He stayed close to her, unconsciously unable to help himself from behaving as if there might be others nearby who might dispute his claim to this female. Civilized discourse had never tainted the mating rites of his kind. As with the need to hunt it was motivated by feral, primitive instinct. Confronted by a female in season, discussion was over and talking was the furthest thing from his mind. He maintained only enough ability to think as was necessary, driven instead by his body's reactions.

"I need water," his pet informed him. He blinked, then glanced at the pool, then back at her. "To drink," she clarified, her expression altering as her brows furrowed. "My being dehydrated ain't gonna make this any easier for either of us, trust me."

He blinked again and rumbled. Water to drink, he understood, but why she would decide that now was the time to drink was mystifying to him. And the rest of her words were a confusing muddle in which he failed to hear any invitation to proceed.

She sighed, glanced around, then looked at the shower. "Can I drink that water?" she asked, pointing at the enclosure. He looked at the shower, then at her. "Oh my god, did your brain fall out or something?" she asked, her temper rising. "What the hell is up with you?" she demanded. When he did nothing but continue to stare at her, resolutely waiting for her to initiate the expected proceedings, she set her spine and headed around the pool. He followed and watched her pick up her empty goblet, then continued to follow her into his quarters and to the exit door. "Open it, genius," she ordered, motioning.

Ah, she wished to choose a suitable location. That, he understood, and reached past her to unlock the door's mechanism. She headed out with him on her heels and he followed her to the kitchen, hovering nearby while she filled her cup with fresh water, drained it without taking a breath, then refilled it. He chattered at her as she resumed drinking, slowly made aware of a sense of disrespect, that her need to drink was a delaying tactic specifically calculated to take full advantage of the respect and patience he was displaying for her. He had a healthy ego, and though he would tolerate much from the opposite sex, this was trying his nerves.

Lowering the cup with a drawn-out sigh, his pet said, "Yeah, you're right. Now you'll probably pop my bladder." Looking from her goblet of water at him, she asked, "Any chance I can take a piss without an audience?"

He cocked his head and sent her a purr, pleased by the return of her attention and not giving a damn about trying to translate her words. She blinked, her face expressive and open though he couldn't discern what she was projecting, then she smiled. "I can't believe that I think I actually like this Synsen," she said. "You're a goofball when you're horny, you know that?"

His purr, which had settled to a more sedate pace and volume, tripped up again as he recognized and latched onto her words enough to understand that she liked Synsen. Acceptance! His patience had paid off.

"Whoah, whoah, whoah," she barked, backing as he started to advance. Already his mind was spinning off rapid calculations, informing him that his usual methods wouldn't work with her. She was too small to knock to the floor and comfortably mount...however, the table and counter would do nicely to increase her height. He growled at her rebuke and refusal, then she put her free hand on his chest and said, "Slow down."

Her touch stilled him, and though he understood her words he mulled them over as he quelled the instinct to take her down. Slow down? Could this courtship move any slower? He grumbled, wondering if her species required extensive mating rituals, then dismissed the thought. This courtship had gone on for an entire mating season already. He had more than proven himself as an exceptional male, and she had ultimately chosen to stay with him.

He growled again, dashed out of that place of anticipatory instinct and knocked back into reality. This female was toying with him. Teasing him. Still challenging him.

Perhaps it was part of her necessary mating ritual, part of him hedged. Pay attention to it. Learn from it. Use it.

"Okay, okay, I got my water," his pet was saying as he stared at her, mulling. "Don't start getting all painful on me."

She skirted around him and headed out of the kitchen and down the hall. He trailed, chittering and agitated until they ended up back in his quarters. She set the goblet on a surface near the bed, then boosted herself up onto the furs.

_The bed?_ he thought._ Was she preparing herself for sleep now?_

"Okay...awkward..." she muttered under her breath.

He considered as she sat there, waiting. Beds were for sleeping, not mating. While he had on occasion been invited into the private quarters of a female for an encounter, the only female who had he'd ever shared a bed with was his pet. Matings were brief and had been violent before he'd become adept at properly securing his partners; the ones who had led him on tantalizing chases to their quarters were seeking privacy that would guarantee he would sire their pups, instead of taking the chance of being interrupted and allowing their fickle instincts to choose another. He understood the female condition of being in lust, and respected it enough to realize that a female who chose privacy for mating was honoring him by proving she'd specifically selected him.

He took in his pet's position and huffed as he tried and failed to see any signs of invitation. She was neither refusing nor welcoming him, merely staring back at him. It had become her habit to retreat to the bedding to show her submission, forestalling his wrath with a signal that she needed her rest. He had allowed this, having learned since acquiring her that oomans required a tremendous amount of sleep compared to yautja. This place had therefore become neutral territory and either one in it was accorded respect, the other maintaining silence.

"Fuck it, I can't do this," his pet muttered, then broke eye contact and slid to the floor. Of her words, the only one that registered was fuck..._pauk_, in his language. In the split second between his hearing that word and her attempt to bypass him, he reacted.

It was his habit to be decisive and take firm control, and without conscious thought he caught his pet and lifted her, momentarily surprised by how light she was, then banged her firmly onto the surface of the nearby table. Strong females don't respect a weak or indecisive male and he knew it. Once they made their decision, they needed to be put on notice and taken in hand before they had time to reconsider. Such firm aggressiveness assured them that they'd made the right decision, that the male they'd chosen was properly assertive and dominant and fully prepared to quickly meet their needs with a minimum of fuss.

She let out a startled sound that was cut off by a grunt when she impacted the table, snatching and clawing deliciously at his arms. As he hadn't intended to initially be quite so rough with her body he forced himself into a hard check, bridling the adrenaline coursing through his muscles. She took advantage of his hesitation, snarling and planting her feet on his belly then attempting to shove him back.

_Interesting..._ he mused as he cocked his head, purring fervently to help calm her and taking in her inviting position. He wasn't oblivious to her resistance but simply accepted it as the normal course of things. This, to him, was the part where he proved his experience by subduing and positioning her without harming her. Hurting her, however, was still a definite possibility if she insisted on forcing him to be rough with her, though that went both ways. As far as he was concerned, a little pain went hand in hand with a good pauk, and he wore his mating scars with pride. The females he was familiar with liked to leave behind marks like souvenirs of conquest. He didn't suppose his pet would be capable of doing so, with her blunt claws and teeth, but she was welcome to try.

She grunted with effort as her feet shoved into his midsection again, and he obliged her by taking a single backward step from the table as he released his hold on her. His movement seemed to catch her offguard, allowing him to easily close his hands around her ankles and pull her legs apart, then tug her closer feet-first. She bucked but he held her easily, aware that her soft flesh was glowing with arousal, hearing her quiet growling as she struggled. Her strongest efforts were akin to the muted protests of the yautja females who had chosen him to mate with but were putting him to the test. That she was actually angry didn't concern him; in his experience, female mating urges and anger were closely intertwined, one feeding off the other.

He did, however, take notice when she suddenly reared up on the table as he strong-armed her into a better position, then latched onto his tresses, braced, and pulled. Had she dared this any other time he would have been enraged. Those blunt claws he'd just dismissed a moment ago suddenly had more substance as they dug into the softer, thinner scaling of his sensitive locks and gained purchase, tearing through delicate cuticle. Though he growled, the sound lacked the rebuke that would normally back it, and he leaned into her willingly as she hauled back with the weight and strength of her upper body. She stopped pulling as he lowered himself over her, huffing with excitement, mandibles spread and eyes avid.

The bath had muted her scent a bit, but it was rising again in her fervor. Invited into her aura, Synsen helped himself to deep draughts of it, his growl still trickling from his throat as his purring held steady. His pet froze, still clinging to his tresses but no longer pulling, staring at him as he huffed hotly over her belly. The alienness of her aroma triggered the return of some of his senses, reminding him of where he was and what he was doing, backing off some of the mental haze created by the lust that was steadily taking him over.

"Well, that was stupid," she muttered, the meaning of her words lost on him. He heard only encouragement and dared to dip closer still, excited by the subtle nuances of her scent and eager to take them in and attempt to interpret them. Her cringing and the nervous clenching of her belly at the contact of his outstretched tusks went unnoticed. He felt the warmth of her body against his chin and gums and huffed more deeply and slowly in reaction, his exhalations chirring rhythmically in pleasure.

_Mine_, he thought, enormously pleased with himself. _His_ female, available for _his_ pleasure. No need to hurry, no competition, no threat of rejection; this conquest was all about him, his wants and needs, for once not an opportunity but a _right_ he'd earned over countless years. He'd distinguished himself from most of his peers by not only surviving long past them, but by achieving the honored title of Arbitrator. He'd been entrusted to guard the honor of his clan, an endeavor he and the other Arbitrators each undertook alone. His record of successes spoke volumes on his behalf: Bahko, female-killer; Skemte, traitor to his pack, whose dereliction of duty had resulted in his Leader's death; Vk'leita, the treacherous student who'd killed another and claimed his trophies on his chiva. There had been others, many more, but these were notorious badBloods and had evaded detection and avoided the Arbitrators until Synsen had hunted them down and erased their stain from the collective honor of his clan. He was deserving of an eccentricity, a harmless indiscretion. He'd tested the reactions of others and though all suspected he was mating with his pet and some had questioned him, the only one to show outright disapproval was Ne'himikta.

So _soft_. So _intoxicating_. There was a slightly acrid tang to her scent that put him on notice that she was feeling fear as she remained submissively still, and it only aroused him further. Fierce and defiant ooman _sain'ja_, killer of _kainde amedha_ and oomans, wounder of an yautja Arbitrator, rejecting her own kind and choosing him, then submitting and showing proper deference for his aggression by allowing a subtle scent of fear to leak from her pores. He moved his head incrementally lower, toward the place where the scent of female was strongest, breathing roughly in his excitement. She had invited – no, _demanded_ – him to partake, to delay positioning her and instead to immerse himself in the richness of her aroma. Showing him her needs, teaching him the final steps necessary to properly prepare her and make her more pliable and receptive.

Never one to refuse the desires of a female in heat, Synsen hovered his mouth over the open juncture between his pet's legs and sucked in a breath, upper mandibles lifted to their limits. Heat and dampness slid over his upper palate and bathed his olfactory organ like wet silk, perfumed with tantalizing hormones. She shifted her legs like a protest, unable to refuse him, then pulled upward at his tresses. He resisted, another thing he wouldn't dare with a yautja female. _Not yet, pet_, he thought, interpreting her actions as an eager command to move on. First, he intended to so familiarize himself with every nuance of her scent that recognizing her receptiveness would be second nature, ensuring him would never miss an opportunity in the future, no matter how subtle the invitation.

Adamantly determined to be in control, not in the way of yautja matings where the female momentarily submitted and allowed him to be but because this was his pet and he was _n'yaka-de_, master, Synsen continued to linger, to saturate his senses while memorizing her fragrance. It seemed, in his mind, to be growing stronger, its demand intensifying. Easily equal to the demand his pet was putting on his tresses as she tugged impatiently. His rumble droned almost tonelessly, caught between soothing and rebuking her, barely audible over his avid purring. The primitive dominant in him was gnashing its teeth and demanding he take her now, while the honorable intellectual insisted that he take care to learn her properly. And then he allowed himself to take a liberty he had never dared before, chattering quietly before throwing caution aside and widening his gape enough to extend his tongue and _taste_.

His pet bucked her hips forcefully enough to lift her backside off the table, yowling. The sound coming out of her was throaty, its timbre noticeably unusual. One quick swipe, one taste was not enough, so he extended his tongue again, letting it linger this time, flexing against the damp heat between her legs as he drew in a breath. Another sound from his pet, something between shock and protest, and he determinedly tightened his hold to keep her pinned to the table. Her _te'dqi_ was molten in comparison to her skin, ensuring him that his organ would find her core temperature more than adequate for his comfort, and the taste of female and salt made his mouth water. His tongue writhed, curious and testing, seeking to educate him regarding the location and tightness of her entrance, the texture of her passage. She whimpered as he probed, forced to endure as he held her still and explored. He was gentle as his forked tongue sought the very top of her slit, squirmed between her soft warm folds and began a slow downward trace, prodding rhythmically as he searched and sure this must be unpleasant for her, based on her reaction. He sought not to punish her, but as he'd never bred an ooman before it was necessary; inserting his sex organ into the wrong orifice would be even an more unpleasant experience in comparison for her, he was certain.

The _te'dqi_ kept coming and he sensed he was closing in on the right place. The scent and taste of female had overpowered his awareness of most anything else, including his own purr and eager grunting. The closest he had come to anything like this before was lapping at a female's back as he rutted, searching for the right spot, following the trickling trail of hormones she released in her sweat to lead him to its source, the place he pierced in the necessary step of tusking to trigger her to release a chemical surge that would ensure conception.

His pet was writhing, her hands closed tightly around his locks, flexing and squeezing and tugging as she issued stuttering sounds and weakly kicked her feet against his flanks. He was close; her anguish almost over. Once he located her entrance she would never have to endure this apparently unpleasant probing of her femininity again. Using the flexible finger-like extensions on the tip of his tongue, he cautiously eased her folds apart, inching gently deeper. She bucked against his hands, her spine flexing as she huffed. This was the place, the source of the secretions that made his tongue glide smoothly, the location of her need. He growled, unable to resist lingering another moment, pressing the backs of his spread tusks against her inner thighs as he plunged experimentally deeper, feeling her tension as her inner muscles clenched. She could resist but that wouldn't deter him. She would be conquered and would learn to accept him because he could meet the needs she was so defiantly denying even existed. Once he proved that he could fix her heat she would come to him willingly for relief, he was sure. Until then there would be this delicate dance of subdued force against stubborn resistance that plagued his sense of honor.

He withdrew his tongue and worked his throat and jaw, aware of the intensity of her scent. Unpleasant for her as that exploration might have been, he sensed she had been aroused by it and her body was responding. Now he would soothe her need and reward himself by consummating their relationship and teaching his pet her expected place. He hesitated when he went to straighten and her hands tightened a moment in his tresses, then she released him. Curiously, as he regarded her, he noticed that she seemed strained and breathless and flushed, like she'd recently been exerting herself physically. Perhaps his oral curiosity had been too much for her. Slightly chagrined, he extended his tongue and lapped at the underside of his lower left mandible. Though not in the least bit opposed to punishing her when the situation demanded it, punishment had not been warranted or intended in this case. He waited, giving her time to recover and collect herself.

He was, he praised and reminded himself, an honorable _n'yaka-de _to his pet, not a badBlood. Other yautja coveted his pet but couldn't have one for themselves because they knew better. They were undisciplined, incapable of controlling themselves. He was to be admired for his forbearance in dealing with her, a strong mature female who would easily break a lesser yautja's resolve, smart in some ways but stupid – or defiant and uncaring - enough to not know her limitations when faced with a superior being.

"Where the hell did you learn to do _that_?" his pet asked. The demand in her tone was the signal he'd been waiting for, permission to proceed. He gathered her legs and pulled her tightly against himself, holding her behind her knees. They both hissed at the contact, sex to sex, and when she tried to pull away, leveraging her hands against the tabletop, he released her legs, gathered her wrists together, and pinned them to the surface above her head. For a moment he hesitated, uncertain about this position as he'd never mated a female who was facing him before. Too tempting and easy for them to do real damage that way, and while rejection was shameful enough he didn't relish the thought of being severely disabled in an attempt to mate.

_Not yautja_, he reminded himself regarding his pet, who at this very moment was writhing beneath him and landing dull heel-kicks against his hide with her loose legs. The restrained attempt to resist was arousing as her body squirmed below his, her damp sex grinding deliciously against the exposed glans of his penis. He purred ardently and let her carry on, honestly uncaring and unaware if this was resistance or acceptance. She, intentionally or not, had started the actual process of mating him with her sinuous movements, inciting and encouraging a male arousal response. As if feeling his reaction and reacting to it, her movements became more intense. Synsen gathered her small wrists in one hand and caught her left leg just behind her knee to keep himself tightly pressed against the apex of her thighs, intensifying her squirming. His blood was pumping with excitement at the prospect of a mating and a conquest all in one, breathing in short, sharp bursts as his pet exceeded his requirement for exotic and arousing by vocalizing gustily and writhing against him. Yautja females were stoic and silent about mating, remaining still unless they wanted to test a male's hold, and uttering no sound but a warning growl if a male lingered too long.

She stopped, panting, only moving her arms and trying to twist her delicate wrists from his grip. The damage she'd already done to his tresses twinged with every thud of his hearts, the pain only pricking his excited aggression and making him more avid to see her conquered. When he tugged on her knee she arched off the table, her small body lithe and flexible but no match for his strength. Her teeth were bared at him and he tossed his head to prevent his fleshy locks from coming within range of her mouth, tossing them back over his shoulder with a cadence of dull slaps and clicks as his rank rings connected. He repositioned over her, stretching her between her wrists and her knee, then he gave her a slow, light thrust of his hips between her legs. She huffed, her brows furrowed as she stared into his eyes, that way she did when she was trying to understand something. He thrust again, even slower this time, backed by the tandem incremental unsheathing of his organ. She tried to bow her back to deny him but he held firm. There was resistance that for a moment made him think his aim was off, then it gave enough to allow him to pierce and his pet let out a soft breath, relaxing a bit. He cooed to her as she met his stare, a throaty purr to back the steady rumble he was emitting, then he thrust again. This time he kept it up, each thrust a bit harder, all accompanied by the stealthy extension of his penis from its hidden sheath. Control backed by control. No rush, no hurry. This was his to savor and enjoy, though admittedly it thrilled him to feel her settling and relaxing a bit, her attempts to pull her wrists from his hand stopping, her breaths soft and shaky. They were timed to his movements, a steady inhalation as he thrust, released in the pause before the next thrust. His purring was a masculine, baritone throb, steady and banging hard below his breastbone, keeping pace with the hard thumping of his massive hearts.

Sensing her surrender, Synsen delivered the next thrust with more authority. She huffed hard and he felt either tension in response to his intrusion, or the comparative tightness of a passage meant for a much smaller sex organ. Either way, it was a sensation that made his scalp tingle and his hide burn at the lure of hot, slick need accompanied by the awareness that he would have to work to meet it. She was accommodating him, though, the slick smoothness of her inner walls grudgingly stretching to accept him with muscular contractions, clenching to hold him as warmly and securely as his own sheath, accompanied by shaky exhalations as they both prepared for the next thrust.

She was moving, no longer urgent and aggressive tugs but more like full-body ripples that coursed down her length as he worked steadily to impale her. He eased up on some of the pressure he was using to keep her stretched to her full length, then felt the return of her rhythmic writhing beneath him. The tone of her vocalizations were breathy and guttural, encouraging him to increase his pace and demand. He was unsure if he was keeping pace with her or she with him, as he thrust deeper and she tilted her hips to meet him and catch his next flexing advance.

* * *

><p>Probably there was a small part of me still in denial and adamantly opposed to what was happening. <em>Probably<em>. It was smothered by a perfect, building storm that I was powerless to oppose, though. Bested by my captor's ability to counter my every attempt to assert myself, mentally and emotionally defeated by my inability to escape him and my humiliating recapture, muddled by alcohol and the exhaustion that had followed my failure to defend myself from his almost-attack, caught up in the instinctive drive to do whatever it took to stay alive...yeah, all those things were contributing factors, but what had followed was what had tipped the scales.

For a moment there, I had been prepared to just give in, lie there and take it. Steeled myself to endure with the internal pep talk that I was a soldier, I had been through the shit and a little more wouldn't break me. Sitting on his bed while he stood there staring at me like he was waiting for more, though, like I was supposed to _do_ something, that had snapped the sense back into me. And the instant I changed my mind was the instant where it became too late for me.

Snatch, bang, right onto the table, hard enough to make me see stars and remember I wasn't dealing with some amateur grunt looking for some tail. And before I could even get my wind back he was looming and grabbing and positioning like an octopus, everywhere at once, making that idling sound that was like auditory morphine. I fought back, got my feet on him, eventually catching those thick tube-like hairs sprouting from his head. Turned out that had been a dumb move, serving only to stupidly pull all those spines and teeth and tusks well into my comfort zone. When I'd stopped he hadn't backed off at all, instead bending closer, and when those freaky mandibles spread open I was sure he was going to bite me.

There had been no biting, only the sensation of hot breath on my bare belly as he'd huffed at me. I'd thought that maybe the bath had actually done the trick and gotten rid of whatever he was smelling that was making him crazy, but no. I was not about to have a dispute with his head, with that massive, knobby crown, the patches of quill-like spines, those giant lower fang-like tusks and their sharp accompaniment of incisors and canines. There was way too excellent a chance that any attempt on my part to assault his head would result in my being more injured than him.

He dipped lower, shoulders and back hunching as he moved down my length and hovered his predatory mouth right the hell over my crotch. While this most certainly was not an acceptable development, there wasn't a whole helluva lot I could do about it, besides hope he hadn't decided to bite me there rather than on my stomach.

There was something so animalistic about his actions, so opposed to the fact that he was frighteningly advanced and intelligent. I would think it would be demeaning for him to behave like a dog, crotch-sniffing, but here he was, huffing for an embarrassingly long time. The fleshy tubes in my hands throbbed and emitted heat like they had a pulse, and I noticed small green cuts in the faded black and grey locks. Good god, they _did_ have a pulse, I realized, recognizing the smattering of fluorescent green crescents as cuts caused by my nails, then something hot and wet smacked me right between the legs. I yelped and went rigid, renewing my assault on the strange hairs in my hands reflexively as Synsen locked down on me.

He had a tongue. A fascinating one, as far as I was concerned. Like his hairs it was thick and tube-like, tapering flatter at the end and splitting into a prehensile fork. Far as I could tell it wasn't contained in his mouth like a human's tongue, but kept somewhere further back, like down his throat. There were times I would catch glimpses of it when he strained to pronounce certain sounds, and other times I would stare in horrified amazement as it would snake out to clean his tusks after he ate.

Apparently it had other uses, too, and I arched off the table despite his firm restraint, huffing as he used it to leisurely explore my nethers. Logical thought scattered to the four winds when the forked tip walked its way up my slit then burrowed into my folds to locate my clitoris and assault it with a detailed and methodical tactile examination that had me mewling like a kitten crying for its mother. From there the sonuvabitch slipped lower and deeper, taking his sweet-ass time, somehow gentle and demanding at the same time as that talented muscle slickly explored every inch. I couldn't have unlocked my hips if I'd wanted to, and when he started to tortuously tease me in the right spot, delving slowly deeper, I swear I was damn close to cumming. Too much hot and wet contact, too much slippery, frictiony pleasure for me to resist, not after being primed from however many months of not getting any action. I was in withdrawal, just jonesing for a good orgasm and deliriously close when Synsen abruptly withdrew and straightened. I was still hanging onto his hot, tubey hair, and for a moment he paused and glared at me until I let go.

I'm sure I was blazing red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment as he stared down at me, mortified at how close I'd come and at the same time pissed off to high hell that he hadn't kept it up just a little longer. I'd wondered what he was thinking, if he was angry I almost had or angry that I hadn't, and while I glared back at him his tongue slipped out over his lower teeth, coiled the tines of its fork beneath his mandible, then slipped back into hiding. Fucking. Tease.

Even so, there was a question I just _had_ to ask: "Where the hell did you learn to do _that_?" I'd demanded. It certainly wasn't a skill he'd demonstrated on the female yautja. Maybe she would've been a little less cranky if he'd taken the time to warm her up. Certainly I had to think she'd be doing a little less growling and a little more purring, though maybe not, if it was his habit to quit when he was just at the finish line.

Instead of making any attempt to respond to my question, he wrapped his massive hands behind my knees and tugged my legs to straddle him, slamming my aching and sensitive pussy against the hard jut of his male bits. As if it had hurt him as much as me, he hissed in tandem with me, then released my legs long enough to snatch up my hands as I tried to backpedal to put some distance between us. Though I struggled to resist, he easily leaned over me, forcing my arms above my head and pinning my wrists to the table. It sent me into full-blown panic mode and I thrashed, trying to squirm loose and battering him best I could with my unrestrained leg as he gathered my wrists in one hand and caught me behind the right knee with the other. In the end, the only thing I'd gotten for my efforts was the sensation of something blunt and hot wedged hard between my legs, dangerously close to what I had been trying to avoid all along. Synsen gave a full-body shudder and tugged at my restrained leg, pulling me more tightly against him, and I tried to buck and arch away but was stretched to my limit and held firmly. I'd snarled, last act of defiance, and he'd tossed his head and grunted as his hips thrust against me.

_Jesus Christ_, I'd thought, terrified enough to be almost prayerful in my blasphemous supplication.

Then another thrust, this one backed by the sensation of that blunt knob nudging deeper. I remembered seeing it fully extended and I shuddered, then he shoved again and probed harder. Tension had me trying to resist, attempting to arch and twist away, but his body lowered over me, his right elbow and forearm settling on the table by my head as he planted his weight and pinned me, keeping me stretched to the point of pain between my wrists and knee. No contest. He held, waiting, then my belly fluttered as he pierced past my resistance and slipped deeper. That was it, then. Attempted refusal denied.

Still, he waited, that purr soaking into my ears, into my whole body everywhere he was touching me. And now, for added effect, I could feel it inside, vibrating into my core as if his penis was a transmitter and I was a receiver. It stilled me, and the longer he hesitated, the more intense its effect on me. He pressed against me again, still slow and almost tentative, delving deeper, meeting my attempt to resist, then easing his own path with that relentless, vibrating purr. Again and I huffed, the feeling lost in my hands and dimming already in my feet, all my attention concentrating on that place where we were connected, on the intense heat and hardness that was assaulting and seducing me.

Piercing was the right word for it. It wasn't soft and smooth, not gentle. It was demanding and enticing at the same time, a sensation of intense and burning heat accompanied by a painfully ridiculous size that put me on notice that Porn Star Pete, a past boyfriend, had nothing on Synsen despite his legendary equipment. What kept me from further outbreaks of resistance in fear that I would be torn apart was a combination of things unique to Synsen: heat, vibration and rhythmic flexing.

While each new touch against sensitive and nervously tense flesh made me hiss, the stinging sensation was quickly numbed and soothed, my body encouraged to relax. The vibration of his purr drummed through me enticingly, and each thrust was accompanied by a burrowing flexing of the organ that was impaling me. It was as prehensile as his tongue, heated to the point of burning, brought to life by the strong pulse of his heartbeat and backed by the mind-numbing quiver inspired by the intensity of his thrumming. It was this combination that subdued and conquered the last remnants of my resistance, that ultimately resulted in my body turning traitor and flexing to meet his every dramatically broadcast thrust. His brutal hold relented and his pace increased.

_Ouch_, I would think, followed by, _Oooh_. Rising to meet him, my temper pricked by a combination of annoyance at myself and him, tempered each time by pain settling to pleasure. A momentary panic of too much, too fast, too intense, followed by a burst of want and need and lust, a thought of, _This isn't so bad_. Over and over, wave after wave, the sensations mingling and becoming confused in my head until I just gave in because that was easier than resisting and fighting. One thrust built on the next until I was distantly aware of him grunting over me, hearing my breaths huffing in and out in time as a fire built everywhere we touched.

He was gonna do it, I thought. All that pressing and pulling and flexing, that brain-wave-flattening thrumming, that methodical rubbing against parts that hadn't been touched in far too long. I closed my eyes and bowed my back as I ceased the last of my resistance, my loose leg rising and lifting of its own accord to drape over the back of something hot and rough and large as it flexed over me. Decision made, I defiantly refused to allow myself to think about the owner of that back. There was a bizarre sense of disconnect and yet an intensity, a demanding need, then Synsen chattered caustically and thrust hard, driving my hips up toward my hands and making me grunt out my breath. He was vocalizing aggressively, grinding against me, and I distinctly felt an intensifying of the burning sensation in my core as he jabbed painfully at me and tugged back on my knee, forcing and holding me tight against him.

He eased back gradually, still rocking over me but more slowly, his breaths sawing. _So close_, I thought. If not for my fear and uncertainty I would have settled in, relaxed and enjoyed the ride. Instead I was faced with frustration at my double failure to let loose, panting to catch my breath, keeping myself open to feel everything as he continued to move almost gently over me. The flexing had settled to a spastic twitching, and his purring was choppy and uneven as he eased down. My opportunity was lost in the barrage of input and I felt let down as I sagged and stilled, no longer grappling and flexing against his restraining hold. Nothing for it but to wait until he was satisfied and released me. He bucked a bit then shuddered, hesitating before finally letting go of my hands. Defeated, I left them where they were, tingling with a rush of fresh blood. I would have felt some measure of victory had I been able to fully enjoy the encounter; in the absence of that I felt nothing but used and abused. Synsen had gotten what he'd wanted from me, and I'd gotten nothing but more aggravation.

* * *

><p>Straightening, Synsen looked down at his pet and had to suppress an urge to roar victoriously as she remained still and docile. <em>That<em> had been exhilarating. Conquest and pleasure, earned and taken. And now – finally – the female submitted, rocking in time to his harsh breathing as they remained connected. He could feel the pattering of her heart, the tight heat of her passage as it continued to flex slickly around him. He shuddered then shook himself briskly from the waist up, in no hurry to uncouple. His pet didn't dispute his right to remain snugly seated, her small body unbroken and undamaged, glowing heatedly in the aftermath as she caught her breath.

This, he congratulated himself as he found he was already looking forward to the next time she went into heat, had been well worth the aggravation.


End file.
